The Notebook
by 8belles
Summary: Notebooks. Filled with Memories. I hope to do justice to our Friend, James Buchanan Barnes. (May get dark in few places.) #TeamCap. Cannon-ish for Cap 3. Spoilers... i guess.
1. Chapter 1

The Notebook

He didn't remember much. The Smithsonian filled in a few blank spots but otherwise it was a magnificently immense void.

His mind, or what was left of it, began to grasp at straws, like a rope or maybe a train door bar, or a red leather gloved hand attached to a man who was so familiar like his own flesh and blood.

Who was he?

The man on the bridge. The man on the train. The man on the collapsing helicarier.

Who was the man?

Hell, who was he?

One morning, it came to him. _Write. You need to write_ , his mind told him in a tiny lost whisper from a very far distance struggling to bubble to the surface from under the grotesque slime of seventy years of mental abuse.

He stole a notebook. It was from a little kid walking home from school. He didn't mean to frighten the child, but it was the fastest and easiest way to get what he desperately craved; a notebook to write in.

The child stood, transfixed in place by the icy glare of the Winter Soldier. A whimper escaped his lips as Bucky rummaged through his backpack roughly looking for any thing with a spiral bound spine.

He knew he was doing wrong. _A woman's voice scolded him, "James! How many times have I told you to get your hand out of that cookie jar! I don't wash my fingers to the bone so you can be a greedy pest!" The sound of two girl's voices was in the background… his sisters playing._

 _WRITE THAT DOWN!_ His mind implored him. _Before it gets away! WRITE IT DOWN!_

Almost panicked, Bucky ripped a notebook from the child's back pack and dove back in for the pencil pouch. Seizing the two items, he ran away from the child who still remained frozen still, terrified of what happened.

Heart hammering, he knew he should be deeply ashamed. Stealing from children. Scaring them to death.

He was done with death. _I don't do that any more._

But now, he had a new mission; to reclaim his memories.

He needed to write them down. In a notebook before he forgot again. Or before anyone could take them from him again.


	2. Pencils

The Notebook ch 2

The child's pencil case smelled like crayon wax. There were stubby pencils in the case, chewed with small tooth pockmarks over their yellow paint, chipped to the wood beneath. A rubbery pink eraser, greyed on all its edges from rubbing out errors, sat nearby.

Bucky stared at them for a while. Pencils. Crayons. Safety scissors. The used wrapper from a piece of gum.

School? Did he go to school? Ever?

 _The nun circled like a black clad shark between the neat rows of desks, her habit close to her face, the white liner giving stark contrast. "Hold your pencil properly! Trace the letters!" Her voice rang out like a clarion bell. The children flinched in their seats. A long yard stick hid behind her back, grasped in a firm hand._

 _James stared out the tall arching window at the pigeons floating by in the fall breezes, his short legs swinging alternately beneath his chair, toes just grazing the wood floor. Under his uniform knickers, bruises from play purpled his knees as his greyed socks slouched down his skinny ankles into his scuffed saddle shoes. His mother had bought those as a hand me down from the older boy next door who was moving to middle school and out grew them._

 _It was 1927. He was ten and in fourth grade._

 _He was not writing. He was day dreaming._

 _The crack of the yardstick hit his desk, just millimeters from his hand. James nearly vaulted out of his skin. The face of Sister Rita appeared up close and personal, her grey eyes piercing. She smelled strongly of Mass incense, "Mr. Barnes. The birds outside will not teach you how to write your cursive."_

 _James swallowed hard, his breath catching, "Yes.. yes Sister." He dutifully picked up his pencil and began tracing the letters, elegantly, if not a bit shakily from his startling._

" _That's correct, class. Follow the lines delicately. Curve, swoop. Curve and swoop!" she called out over her pupils._

 _James glanced out the window one more time. The pigeons danced with her recitation._

The pencils sat there, still. No nuns, no incense. No rows of desks. There was a window. He looked out it into the bleak summer sky filled with rain clouds. The pigeons were still there, swooping in the wind.

He looked at the notebook; the one he had stolen from the child.

On the cover was a face of an Avenger. He had a blue helmet and blue eyes. White wings were etched bravely at his temples. He carried a war weary shield in the very photoshopped image on the glossy cardstock cover. The expression was a look of determination, of resolve and purpose. His body was angled in such a way that he could be leading the charge, or protecting innocent lives.

James wondered silently why a child would have a notebook with the picture of a man like this on it?

Running his fingers lightly over the cover, he began to feel something familiar. The man on the bridge. The man on the helicarier. The man he dragged from the river.

His mission.

His mission graced the covers of children's notebooks.

Bucky was more confused than ever.

Opening the notebook, he saw the child's work. The kid's name was in the upper corner of the cover. Anthony in expert parent script. The child wrote "Tony" in shaky penmanship. Bucky guessed the kid was somewhere around second grade.

Tony. Child. Tony. Child. Tony.

Words swirled violently.

" _Asset, the target it Howard and Maria Stark." A file was thrust at him. The Winter Soldier took it and flipped it open. Inside was a photo of Howard and his wife Maria, dressed for a gala a few weeks ago. Another photo was of Starks' personal car, with flying modifications. "Lola" was written across the photo in pen._

" _We need to make this look like an accident. Zeta protocol." The HYDRA operative told him firmly._

 _The Winter Soldier nodded solemnly. He rarely spoke. He didn't have much to say. Things were always very clear to him. Live. Die. Repeat._

 _The cars were parked in the Starks' garage at the New York estate. The first guard died of an induced heart attack, courtesy of an injection of an untraceable chemical. The second was sedated with an amnesiac. He would remember only that his partner had chest pains and then collapsed._

 _The Winter Soldier slid into the garage like a silent black snake._

 _A few turns with a wrench later, break lines were only connected by the merest of a bolt and nut. The Winter Soldier slipped out like the morning fog, unseen._

" _Get your Evening Edition! The Starks are dead! Howard and Maria Stark are dead!" the newsie called from the street corner. People snatched the evening edition from the paper boy like it was food and they were starving. "Tragic death of the Starks' in an auto accident!"_

 _The Winter Soldier sat in his chair, the restraints not wrapped around his arms and legs. Staring straight ahead, he awaited orders, his mission complete._

" _Asset.." Alexander Pierce stated, "You have done so well."_

 _The Winter Soldier made no effort to acknowledge the presence of Pierce but sat impassively staring straight ahead._

 _Alexander stepped around intentionally into his field of vision. "Your work was amazing. Perfectly lethal and it appeared to be a complete accident."_

 _The Winter Soldier still remained expressionless._

" _Too bad now Tony Stark has no parents now. But that is all part of the HYRA plan. And you my friend," Alexander patted the Winter Soldier on the metal arm almost like a pet, "You were so vital to its implementation."_

 _Still no response. Pierce smiled wider, a feral look on his face._

The world rushed in upon Bucky like a deluge down a drain. Scrambling backwards away from the notebook and pencil case, he cowered in the corner of his hideout. Panting, he remembered.

He killed Howard and Maria Stark.

He killed Tony Stark's parents.

He killed Iron Man's parents.

 _Write it down,_ his mind told him. _Write it down._


	3. Backpack

**A/N Marvel released a "fill in" comic called "Captain America: Civil War Prelude" 2/10/16. It states Bucky made it to Romania. So we'll keep cannon as we move forward.**

Bucky walked to clear his head. Finally being aware in the twenty first century was overwhelming to say the least. But he knew, if he kept moving, he'd find some peace in that very movement of his body. It kept some of the nastier memories at bay.

His feet stopped in front of an old brick building in the Dumbo neighborhood of Brooklyn, his old stomping grounds, or so he was told by the Smithsonian. The glass was filthy and streaked with grime but the hand painted lettering in gold and black relief was still sharp, only sporadically chipped in a few places. TED'S PACKAGE GOODS, it read. Dusty ceramic "collectors" bottles of scotches and bourbon lined the deep wooden sill inside. Gaudy neon blinked on and off for malt liquor or Budweiser.

Barnes saw his reflection in the late afternoon sun, almost a waif, beard scruffy and unkempt, hair stuffed under a ball cap he had found discarded in an alley. His blue eyes were unwavering and almost blank in their assessment of himself. Bucky realized, he didn't even know his own face anymore.

He didn't know much it seemed.

The stolen child's notebook was tucked into an inner pocket of his homeless shelter canvas coat nearest his heart. That notebook became his lifeline to the past and he swore he'd never let it go. No one would _**ever**_ take his memories away again. Last night, after his PTSD attack, he ripped out the pages that little second grade Anthony had practiced his writing on and inserted his own hastily scribbled, broken memories. He kept the pencils and threw away the crayons. He had no use for color. The world for him was still black and white. Dead and alive. The safety scissors could become a useful weapon despite the effort by the manufacturer to make them non-lethal. He kept them close.

"Hey buddy. You ok?" a man's face appeared from the doorway to the store.

Barnes turned his head and stared.

The man smiled sympathetically, "You want a drink?"

Bucky found his voice. It was an unfamiliar sound, "I have no money."

"That's ok. Looks like you could use a drink. C'mon in." The man offered, holding the door open wider.

Bucky blinked and for a moment, the recollection of scotch came to mind. Like the vapors from a bottle, the memory was alcohol was a _good_ thing.

"Thanks." Bucky moved into the building as the sun set to the west.

The interior was dim, smelled of years of sales of adult beverages and tobacco. The floors were original boards, probably from the early 1900's and creaked beneath his weight. High ornate ceilings were covered in pressed tin tiles painted a medium grey and a group of mismatched brass chandeliers clung to their chains as they dangled above.

A huge mahogany bar lined one side of the store where high chairs tucked under the smooth wood countertop worn by countless hands coming for some fun or to forget. The brass rail below was dented in a few places but was still holding up feet after all these years. Nostalgia hung heavy in the place making Bucky's memories itch just under the surface of a thin skin of forgetfulness.

A few regular looking guys huddled at the far end of the bar, sipping the liquor straight, their callused old hands caressing their glasses like a lover. One wore a WWII ball cap with his regiment embroidered upon it: 101st Airborne. Eyes, hidden behind thick glasses of age, regarded their new drinking friend who moved so unnaturally.

"What'll it be, friend?" the barkeep asked, walking himself back around to the business side of the bar.

Buck sat for a moment looking at all the bottles on the shelves trying to recall what he liked, "Scotch. Straight up."

"One glass it is." The man deftly produced a shot glass, filled it neatly to the brim and pushed it toward the assassin.

Bucky looked at him and raised the glass in a salute and then to the men gathered at the end of the antique bar. They raised their glasses as well.

With a swallow and gentle slam, Bucky put the liquor down his gullet. He forgot about the burn but it felt so good to be on fire from the inside for a change. A small cough escaped him.

"Can't hold your liquor, young'un eh?" One of the older men chuckled from the end of the bar.

Barnes tried some normal facial expression that might have been appropriate. He wasn't sure how it looked. Instead, he turned to the barkeep, "Thanks." Standing, he got up to leave.

"Wait, son. You just got here. Relax." The kind barkeep replied and poured another.

"I can't pay you." Barnes insisted feeling he liquor go to his head a little on his very empty stomach.

"It's no trouble. You give me someone else to talk to besides these old codgers here." The bartender jerked a thumb at the cluster of men at the end of the bar. They flipped him off.

"Yeah. He has a soft spot for you homeless jerks. Not like he's some charity or sum'pin." One of the older men threw the comment down from his seat at the end.

Bucky felt the plates of his left arm ripple in anger under his jacket.

A woman walked into the bar, a backpack slung casually over her shoulder. The barkeep gave her a fatherly hello as she called him 'Dad' and dropped her bag on the floor, hopping up on the stool a few seats away from Barnes.

Bucky sipped his drink this time and eyed the backpack. It looked sturdy and full of things. More notebooks? The thought settled into his mind like a mild obsession. The interior grew more dim as the chandeliers above did not put out much light. A derelict ambiance began to fill the space like a type of melancholy.

The bartender and his daughter chatted a bit about her day at college as the old men slowly returned to low voice mumblings about their dusty past lives. Bucky bided his time and watched the backpack.

Eventually, the woman got up and went behind the bar to what appeared to be a kitchen door to fix herself some dinner. She forgot about the backpack.

Barnes made his move, sliding off the chair and grabbing the bag as the barkeep had his back to the door, refiling glasses of his regulars.

In the mind of one of the old men, he thought, that homeless guy sure does act funny.

Night came to the city as people moved from day time jobs to night time entertainment. Couples moved over the sidewalk, hand in hand. Apartment dwellers walked their dogs. The sound of dinner and the evening news came out of a few lower units. Bucky moved away from it all as fast as he could without attracting attention to himself, only stopping at a dumpster of his favorite pizzeria, looking for some dinner.

Back in his hideout, he surveyed the backpack contents: three notebooks, practically new. A few text books on history and law, several better pencils and pens than what the second grader had and a sharpie marker.

He picked up the sharpie marker and on the front cover of the first notebook he wrote, "Steve". The man on the bridge. On the second he wrote "Hydra". From memory and compulsion, he drew the octopus logo. The third he left blank. He didn't know a title for that one. He'd save it.

The books he regarded and a new feeling began to invade his jigsaw mind: guilt. Those books. He wouldn't read them. It was really becoming a bad habit of stealing things as well. Resolving to be a better man, he thought he'd return them to the bar tomorrow in exchange for those drinks.

Eyes feeling heavy, he put all the things he deemed important back into the pack, including the Captain America notebook from inside his jacket. Curling up in his sleeping spot, he clung to the pack in a bear hug. His memories were his. They'd never leave him again. Ever.

 **Post: WOW... never ever write late at night when you're half asleep. SO SORRY for all those typos, grammar errors and general gunk. I just proofed it and QWeb made me feel guilty so... I'm making Bucky feel guilty. He'll do the right thing and bring those books back.**

 **8belles**


	4. Drinks

The Notebook ch 4

 _Bucky never heard Dr. Erskine say this, but he knows it in his heart._

" _You were chosen, not because you are a good soldier, but a good man." Dr. Erskine._

Curled protectively around his backpack of notebooks, something in that scotch and the bar made Bucky dream.

" _Steve. C'mon!" Bucky urged his smaller and vastly skinnier friend to hurry down the block to the back alley near the wharfs as a chilly March breeze cut down the street. Model A's made rattles and backfires as they navigated down partially cobbled streets. Large delivery trucks with their advertisement art on their sides rumbled by, spewing their diesel exhaust._

 _Steve, huffing and puffing behind, tried to keep up while hugging his threadbare coat to his reedy frame, "Buck… wait."_

 _Barnes looked over his shoulder, a flicker of disappointment on his fifteen-year-old face, before he slowed his pace slightly. "Alright, wingnut. But that just means I get more."_

" _Hey! That's not fair. I helped you… pay for that." Rogers protested, his cheeks flushed with the exertion, breath circling his head like a wreath, blue eyes sparking with temper._

" _Yeah, but I had to sneak it from my older cousin Tommy. You know he's got connections to the Irish mob, which means – "Bucky's eyes narrowed devilishly, leaning down into Roger's face in a puff of condensation, "We're criminals." Steve shoved him off as Bucky continued, "Anyway, Mamma would tan my backside if she found out so I get more." Barnes reasoned._

 _They moved off to their rendezvous point at a brisk stroll, trying to stave off the chill, anticipating this big event. All of a sudden, Steve looked uncertain, "Are you_ sure _we should be doing this?"_

 _Barnes stopped midstride making Steve almost trip as he pulled up short. "Whadda mean, punk? Going soft on me?"_

 _Steve swallowed, catching his breath, and stood up as straight as his underweight body would let him. Sarah tried to feed her son but her own health was waning with all the hard work she put in at the hospital. Rogers had pinched pennies every week for a month, which he knew could mean the difference between a meal today or the next. Suddenly, using the money to pay for cheap illegal Prohibition hooch just seemed_ wrong. _"I ain't backing out. I just think this isn't smart."_

" _C'mon Steve! All the other kids are talking about it. It's supposed to make you feel like you can do_ anything _you want to!" Bucky's eyes brightened with the daring possibilities, then lowering his voice "And why would half of New York be going to those speakeasies that the cops are always busting? Must be worth it, right? And… it's St. Patricks."_

 _Steve set his jaw. James' eyes darkened because he knew as soon as he did that, Rogers wouldn't budge. That damn kid was so stubborn it would be his undoing one day._

" _So I guess by the look on your face, we're not doing this." Barnes said, greatly annoyed._

" _I just don't think it's the right thing to do, 'specially with how much that bottle is worth." Steve stated, crossing his skinny arms over his bird chest._

 _Barnes sighed and stared up at the sky, hands raised to the clouds in supplication. He began to pace in front of his friend._

" _For Chrissakes, Steve! We… I go through all that trouble to get it, and now you're backing out on me." Bucky wanted to punch him._

 _Rogers stayed put, his breath puffing out his nose in small breaths. He began to shiver slightly._

 _Barnes grit his teeth together in frustration, "I try to help you Steve. Really. I do. But sometimes you're just too good for your own good."_

" _I'll take that as a compliment." Steve replied, stance not changing. Barnes muttered a few select words toward Steve. Rogers didn't even blink._

 _Glancing around, there was very little traffic on the street and no one was walking by. Barnes felt a bit cavalier from his friend's refusal to join in the binge and declared, "Fine. Have it your way. I'm going to have some." Bucky pulled the tiny glass bottle out of his inner coat pocket. It held maybe three shots worth of cheap brown liquor. Steve watched, still defiant._

 _Popping the cork off he smelled it and immediately coughed. Steve smirked. Not to be shamed, Bucky quickly threw back a mouthful. Molten lava hit his throat as liquid steel from a caldron slid down his belly. Bucky almost dropped the bottle in shock._

 _Steve began to chuckle a bit at his friend._

" _This is great stuff. You're really missing out." Barnes gasped. His eyes began to burn._

" _All I can say is you owe me for my half." Steve said dryly, watching his friend 'enjoy' himself._

 _Bucky put the cork back in the bottle, looking down at the liquor. That gulp he took was not as large as if felt. Looking back up at Steve, he wiped his running nose._

" _Still think that's a miracle in a bottle?" Steve asked, shivering more._

" _You know, I hate you sometimes." Barnes muttered and put the bottle back in his coat._

" _You're welcome." Steve replied._

The dream shifted direction.

" _You ok, Buck?" a much larger enhanced Steve asked, sitting on his bunk opposite his best friend. They had just been briefed on tomorrow's mission: interception of Armin Zola's HYDRA train in the Alps._

 _Barnes looked up from between his knees, eyes dark and hooded and filled with hate, "We're going to get him, right?"_

 _Steve gave a sympathetic look of assurance, "Yeah. We're going to get him." Steve reached beneath his bunk and produced a bottle of very fine vodka. "Want a glass?"_

" _Where did you get that?" Barnes's eyes widened. Alcohol was a premium on the front._

" _A good friend gave it to me, before my big transformation." Steve said uncorking the bottle. "I have no glasses." He extended the bottle to Bucky first._

 _Barnes took it and drank a long pull. His eyes closed in rapture. "This is really good."_

" _Yep." Steve replied taking the bottle back and a swig. "It came from a good man."_

 _Bucky's mood returned to dark again, "Steve. We need to get him. We need to get that sonofabitch."_

 _Rogers reached out and clapped Barnes' left shoulder, "We will. I promise. If it's the last thing we do. Zola will pay for what he did to you."_

 _A fragment of a smile on Bucky's war torn face appeared._

Dawn light appeared in his hideout. The sounds of morning began to seep in to his sleeping area. Stretching carefully, Bucky reached inside his backpack. There were some dreams he needed to write down before they bled away into the day.


	5. Television

**A/N: Thank you to the kind reviews and the very thoughtful and light hearted suggestions for posts.** **Please read** **Qweb, Mopargirl1,** **cairistiona7. Lots of great talent! Exemplary. However, not every event Bucky remembers is a happy one. Here is a darker memory for our poor assassin (Borrowing a bit from Black Widow's play book and believe it or not- Bucky kills a father in front of his child in the comics.)**

After returning the law and history book just outside the door to the bar, Barnes walked. Walking gave him something to do while having nowhere to be.

He knew how to find something to eat and drink along the way not thinking greatly about the lack of sanitation in his food. He'd eaten worse, he was sure of it.

A light rain began to fall in the city as the skies darkened just beyond the Brooklyn Bridge. Bucky paid no attention as he walked across that bridge into Manhattan. Soon, there was a deluge of rain soaking into his clothes to his skin. Only his backpack, firmly attached to him, was lined with plastic bags to prevent his most precious notebooks from becoming saturated.

 _Wash me clean, New York_ , he said to himself, head down, hands in his pockets and drops of water beading off his ball cap to join the thousands of others in front of him on a journey into the Hudson River.

Passing by people with black umbrellas, or newspapers held above their heads calling for cabs or meeting their Uber, the citizenry gave him a wide berth as if they instinctively knew _something_ wasn't right about him. They couldn't be closer to the truth. Puddles were collecting in his shoes.

A store selling electronics caught his eye, the front window filled with flat screen TV's of every size and price point. They were all broadcasting the same channel: some talking head new channel with footage of a terrorist act complete with the screen crawler at the bottom. Through the rain, the screens blurred into one giant flickering mass of bright pixels showing the same thing- violence and death.

Bucky was transfixed like a moth to a flame.

He began to waiver where he stood as the memory took a hold of him like a dog with a toy and savagely shook his soul.

" _Seargent Barnes, the procedure has begun!" Zola's voice was like an Swiss accented snake coiling around his throat, choking the air from his lungs. A bone saw buzz cut the air like a mosquito's hum, grating on the nerves but hard to make go away. Blinding white light. Fear. Sweat. Hate._

The memory shifted to a time period more current.

 _Blood dripped from his hands, clotting under the finger nails of his right hand and between the plates of his left. The HYDRA tech charged with cleaning the arm would be certainly pissed that night._

 _Rivulets of scarlet dripped into the mauve plush carpet as a tiny bit of spatter from the back swing lanced across the loud floral wall paper of the 1980's. The television broadcasting "Family Ties" make a flickering light show upon the teal colored corduroy couch set._

 _The knife in his right hand, already black by design, now shone with the red glow of ebbing life as he held her his left grip, throat slashed. Bucky looked down at her brown curled hair pressed to her temple by sweat. Her eyes were closed, mouth silently open. He had to give her credit, she didn't even scream. But she was not the primary target._

 _His mission was elsewhere. And HYDRA's instructions forced him to look on for his main target._

 _Releasing the body, he let it tumble to the floor in a heap. The show broke to a commercial for "The Clapper."_

" _Clap on… clap off… clap on, clap off… the clapper!" the TV chanted._

 _There were no guards or security in the house at all and no reason to expect any. His target was a high ranking scientist, not some political leader or royalty of any kind. Methodically, he searched the house, room by room, closet by closet._

 _Then he heard something._

 _A whimper. A hushing sound._

 _Like a large cat, he approached stealthily, face hidden by his black muzzle. The door was to the bedroom of a child. He paused as the light poured in from behind him, illuminating the child's room and lengthening his shadow to monstrous proportions._

 _In the depth of his hear hidden away from the brainwashing, he forced his body not to break the threshold. The Winter Soldier pressed. His mission was there._

No. _He willed himself._

Finish your mission. _The brainwashing asserted._

No. _He tried to break free of the mind control that now spanned the better part of forty years,_ I don't kill kids!

Kill the father. Child is collateral. _The programming replied and pressed forward with memories of its own of electroshock therapy, which is what HYDRA did to him last time he disobeyed._

 _The Winter Soldier found all his sensitive spots, both psychic and physical and_ PRESSED hard.

 _Bucky grabbed the door frame with both hands as his knees buckled with astonishing pain. When the pain passed, he was the Winter Soldier once again, leashed to HYDRA._

 _Entering the room, he quickly found the father hiding in the closet. With a quick swipe of the knife, he lay bleeding his heart out on the same mauve colored rug._

 _The child screamed and launched herself at him, red hair dancing like fire in the hallway light that spilled into the room like grace. The name_ _ **Natasha**_ _came into Bucky's mind but was quickly swept away by the task at hand . She beat upon his legs and body like a tiny kitten attacking prey far too large for her. The Winter Soldier raised his knife to strike at the puny child._

 _The last thing his_ real mind _could do was stop the Winter Soldier from killing the child. Bucky forced his right hand to grab a small amnesiac dart from his tool belt and inject her. It wouldn't kill her, but it would spare her the pain of the night haunting her forever._

 _The child collapsed on the floor, unconscious._

 _The Winter Soldier seeing the 'threat' disabled and mission complete, left the house._

 _It was raining outside._

A passerby bumped Bucky's shoulder jarring him from his stupor before the TV screens. The cold rain splashed him in the face.

Suddenly, he staggered to the closest trashcan and vomited. People ignored him.

Drained, both physically and emotionally, he crawled back across the Brooklyn Bridge to his hideout.

His HYDRA notebook needed an entry.


	6. Red

**A/N: I've always had a soft spot for the WinterWidow ship and Marvel wrote it in the comics. S. Stan has stated he'd like to work on that. I bet he would….**

Bucky stayed in the rest of the day, hanging his clothes to dry in his tiny hideout, glad that he had found a ratty old sleeping bag in a homeless handout station.

Huddled naked in the sleeping bag, the memory of the scientist's assassination was newly inked into his HYDRA notebook. Closing the cover, he looked at the skulled octopus he had drawn upon the front in sharpie. His fingertips grazed the image as the memory of the young girl he was able to spare danced just on the edge of his mind.

Red hair.

Ferocity.

Who else did he know like that?

Natasha. Natalia. Alianovna. Romanova. Romanoff. Black Widow.

The Red Room.

He kept looking at the HYDRA on the cover. His vision turned red….

 _She was sitting in her spartan room, legs crossed, hands in her lap, staring at the floor. Her auburn hair, neatly combed into a high pony tail draped down her back. Her face was blank. She was empty inside. Nothing was left. They took all of it._

 _He knocked on the door frame. It was the day after her 'initiation'. She didn't move._

 _Barnes looked at her. A very long forgotten feeling stirred in his chest. He knew what they had done to her. Their stories had parallels stretching beyond time here in this hell._

* * *

 _He was in literal years, old enough to be her father. By the 'gift' of cryostatic storage courtesy of HYDRA, he was slightly older than she, about twenty-five. Bucky had been a 'good boy' so he was told, completing several of his last missions with such effectiveness his handlers decided to let him stay out of the box for a while._

 _To give him something 'to do', they introduced him to Natasha, a budding star in the Black Widow program of the Red Room. Over the weeks, Barnes trained her in all the hand to hand combat he knew and sometimes, she'd outfox him and win. His admiration for her grew as did his affection._

 _Barnes got to watch them dance, the other Widows, in classical ballet. They moved across the floor like angels, floating on air. But Natasha was the best of them all. She made him smile._

 _Between spars one day, when the gymnasium was fairly empty, they sat together, toweling faces and drinking water. "Where are you from originally?" she asked him in Russian._

 _Barnes stiffened at the question, "I don't know, really."_

 _Natasha nodded, but not sadly. Everyone in the Red Room knew their place in the organization. To be ignorant of it would be to court death, "Doesn't matter. You're here now, with me." She smiled. Bucky felt a shred of humanity creep back into his soul. Where had it been hiding all this time?_

" _I know. And it's the best place I know when you're here." he almost flirted back._

" _You tease me." She looked coy._

" _What do I have to tease you about? It's true." He returned but then a knifing pain shot through his head making him flinch, eyes screwed shut in agony:_ The Stark Expo. Steve Rogers. Two Girls. Going to the FUTURE.

" _Are you ok?" Natasha reached out and touched him tenderly, which she had never done. Their touching was always in training and for business only._

 _The touch broke the flashback. Blinking, he looked up at Romanova. A dull ache replaced the stabbing pain. "Fine." he mumbled, "I'm ok."_

 _She sat back, taking her hand off his arm. Bucky felt colder when she let go. "Tomorrow is my big day. I'm going to be a Black Widow."_

" _I know. Your initiation." he tried to be positive._

" _I'm scared… a little." she admitted, her green eyes wide._

" _You'll be ok. You are strong. Stronger than anyone I know." he had involuntarily reached out and was holding her hands in his flesh and metal ones._

 _She gazed at him, swallowing nervously and leaned in just as he did too for a first kiss._

 _Hands ripped them apart. Natasha let out an involuntary scream and began to fight the burley orderlies._

 _Bucky was tazed into submission, writhing on the floor, convulsing in anguish._

" _Take the Winter Soldier to his container. He's been thawed out long enough." The Director ordered. "Natalia Romanova! Collect yourself this instant."_

 _The voice of the director brought Natasha to a standstill. The orderlies released her. She stood mutely as a semi-conscious Barnes was dragged away unceremoniously back toward his deep freeze._

" _Please, Director! Please. I beg you. Do not freeze him yet. My initiation is tomorrow. I … It would mean much to me if I could share my celebration with him."_

 _The Director gave her a long look down her thin nose. With a cruel smile she agreed, "I guess a little more time wouldn't hurt. It's your big day and I know he has taught you much. This was just a lapse in judgment, correct?"_

" _Yes, Director." Natasha stared straight ahead at attention._

" _Very good. To your room. You have much to prepare for." The Director commented and then departed the gym._

* * *

 _There he stood, in her doorway after the "initiation". She was pale._

" _May I come in?" he asked quietly._

 _Natasha barely nodded._

 _He stepped in carefully and stood, not sure if it was safe or wise to sit next to her. "I … I wanted to say thank you for not letting them put me back into the cold."_

 _Natasha looked up at him, pools of tears threatening in her eyes._

 _Something in Barnes melted and he immediately knelt before her, reaching out and enveloping her in a hug. A sob tore itself from her body just as the orderlies returned._

 _They dragged him off Natasha and tazed him again. The Director stood to the side watching the spectacle, delighting in every anguished sob of friends, perhaps first loves torn asunder._

" _Stop it! Leave him alone!" Natasha screamed but couldn't fight because of the surgery stitches in her abdomen from what the Red Room had taken from her._

 _Bucky hung limply in the grasp of the orderlies, his eyes slits, but the last thing he saw was Natasha crying, sitting on her bed, face as red as her hair. A hatred burned in him that he couldn't do anything about it._

 _Then it was mind numbingly cold._


	7. Hungry

Dutifully, he wrote the daydream in his notebook about meeting Natasha. He wondered if she remembered him or any of the goodness they shared briefly before their rude separation. Somewhere in his mind, he seriously doubted it, which made him feel a bit emptier.

He was hungry, but his clothes were still wet. No sense in putting on wet clothes just to go get soaked again in the rain that drummed lightly on the roof. It wasn't unusual for him to miss meals and it looked like he'd wait a bit longer. While he waited, however, he was determined to mine his brain for happier memories. Putting away the HYDRA notebook, he picked up the one he wrote 'Steve Rogers' on the cover.

A smile perked up his lips a bit as he relished a few shreds of the recent memories he did have of Steve. _Maybe if I focus on his name, I will remember_ , he thought. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply and rhythmically, like HYDRA taught him to if he was undergoing torture to extract information. He could send his mind somewhere else while his body endured almost any physical pain.

Steve Rogers.

The man on the bridge.

His best friend.

Steve Rogers.

 _Hungry_

Steve Rogers

 _Hungry._

 _Apple pie._

His eyes opened. Apple pie?

Bucky closed his eyes again and thought about apple pie and Steve Rogers.

 _Fall in the city was different than in the countryside. Instead of the smell of leaf rot, hay and pumpkins, there was the odor of pavement, sewers and the new fangled cars. Busy markets were filled with local produce of apples, squash, cabbages and the fresh livestock. Sarah had earned a few cents extra taking care of an elderly man in Manhattan after her shift at the hospital and saved it all for something she and, she knew the boys, would be craving: an apple pie._

 _Saturday morning found Sarah with her one day off giving instructions to the young men in her kitchen. "Now, you two trouble makers!" She ruffled the boy's hair affectionately, "Take this money and buy me some of the best apples you can find. About a dozen. No cuts and bruises. And NO tasting them early!" she admonished them gently placing the small change purse containing her earnings into Steve's tiny hands._

" _Yes, ma'am." Steve said earnestly, wanting to please his mom the best he could. His dad had not been gone for very long and he felt an overwhelming desire to fill his shoes._

" _Especially you, Barnes." Sarah Rogers gave a firm look at Bucky with her piercing blue eyes, who beamed back at his best friend's mother. "And I need about half a pound of sugar. I better get every ounce you buy. That will cost the most. Don't let that old chinwag of a spice dealer short you either just because you're a child. Watch him!"_

" _We won't let him." Barnes answered standing a head and almost shoulder taller than her Steve, while putting a protective arm around Roger's shoulders. Sarah had no doubt that James would make sure that spice dealer was honest, even if he was only ten._

 _The boys left the tenement for the market. Sarah watched them go as a tired sigh followed by a small wet cough filled the empty space. Looking ceiling ward, she thanked whatever luck she had that Steve had such a great friend._

 _Hitting the pavement, the boys pulled their coats a little closer. The first frost had come a few days ago lending the air a definite crispness. "So, Rogers, think we can sneak a tiny bite or a pinch of sugar?" Buck asked immediately once outside._

 _Steve looked up at Barnes, "Why do you always do that?"_

" _Do what?" Buck asked innocently, hand pressed to his chest in surprise._

" _Ask if we can do the opposite of what we're told?" Steve replied, knowing full well Bucky was teasing._

" _Because it bugs you. That's why." Bucky replied jovially._

" _Great. My best friend is also the biggest jerk in the world. My luck." Rogers sighed, gripping the small change purse tighter in his pocket._

 _Bucky gave him a playful shove in the shoulder as they moved, catching the smaller, lighter Steve off balance. In the blink of an eye, Steve was cheek to chest of Sam, one of the nastier of neighborhood boys. Samuel Stern was twelve and had started growing a beard, it was said, at ten._

 _Bucky gasped in surprise at what he had done, reaching out to grab the back of Steve's coat to pull him away. Sam beat him to it and gave Steve a hard shove to the ground instead._

" _Hey dumbass! Watch where you're going!" Sam growled as Rogers sprawled on the sidewalk in front of him, his bony backside smarting on the hard concrete below him. The change purse fell out his coat pocket and sat between them._

 _Sam's quick eye noticed it first. In a meaty fist, he scooped it up from the pavement, "What's this, little boy?" With a shake he heard the coins. "Gonna do some shoppin'? Maybe for a dress here for your girlfriend?" Sam made an ugly face at Bucky._

 _Steve's brow beetled into a fierce frown, "That's my mom's. Give it back you nimrod!"_

 _Barnes was already taking inventory of his surroundings; Sam's entourage was not around, which was reassuring, but Sam was nothing to sneeze at either._

" _Give it back, Stern. It's not yours." Bucky said in a low voice, helping Steve up from the ground._

" _Oh how cute. Are you going to get a little something to match your blue eyes?" Sam sneered._

" _How'bout I give you a black one?" Steve said and jumped at the coin purse. Stern was too tall and he missed, swinging at air._

 _At the same time, while Sam was distracted, his arm raised high above Steve's head, Bucky rushed a tackle to Stern's midriff just like a linebacker._

 _The taller, older boy took the hit, exhaling in a giant 'oof' sound and dropping the coin purse. Luckily the clasp held when it hit the ground or all the money would have spilled everywhere._

 _Steve was no slack and quickly snatched up the purse and ran, knowing Bucky would be close behind._

 _About a block away of panting breath, he realized Bucky_ wasn't _behind him._

 _Skidding to a halt, he looked back down the street and saw Bucky getting punched in the face, knees buckling. Setting his jaw, Steve ran back to help his friend._

 _He grabbed a convenient garbage can lid on the way and whizzed it like a saucer at just the right moment before Sam slammed another fist into Bucky's face. The metal clanged off Stern's skull like a gong, disorienting him._

" _Bucky! C'mon!" Steve threw himself underneath Barnes's arm and pulled him into a reluctant trot. Steve took a few corners and extra streets before he was sure Sam wasn't following or had his buddies around to finish them off._

 _Wheezing like a bellows, Steve shoved Barnes up against a rough brick wall in an alley not far from the market. Bending over as if to wretch, he saw stars as he fought for air against his tiny birdcage ribs. Rogers couldn't stand up as he felt his legs turn to mush._

" _Steve…. You 'k?" Barnes looked concernedly at him through a swollen black eye and a very bloody nose._

 _Rogers lay there for a moment on the cobblestone alleyway just trying to breathe. Then the realization hit him: he saved Bucky. Steve, the little guy, saved Bucky from a beating._

 _Once the world stopped spinning from lack of oxygen, he sat up and looked at Barnes who was trying to cease the flow of blood from his nose onto his coat. "Here. Let me." Rogers pulled an ever present handkerchief from his pocket for his incessant colds and coughs. He pressed it to Bucky's face and tilted his friend's chin upward. "Those were some moves, eh Buck?"_

" _What moves?" Barnes said, looking at Rogers with his unswollen eye._

" _That garbage pail lid. That was a classic. Pinged him right on the noggin. I saved your life, y'know." Steve preened a bit while monitoring the nose bleed._

" _I had him on the ropes." Bucky replied sulkily._

" _Right." Steve said sarcastically, "It was all your fault anyway."_

" _I know. But", Bucky paused, "I knew you would take him. No problem."_

 _Steve glowed a bit in that praise from his more battle tested friend._

 _The nose bleed had almost stopped when they decided to finish what Sarah Rogers had asked them to complete. Still holding the handkerchief to his face, Bucky and Steve walked out of the alley to the market a few blocks away._

 _The apple seller threw in two extra apples for the price of twelve just because the boys told such a great story of why they looked the way they did. And Maurice, the talkative cheapskate spice seller even gave them a pinch of rock candy for their bravery. Turns out even he didn't like Sam Stern or his family either._

 _Walking back to the tenement, the boys agreed it was worth the accidental interaction with Sam for their spoils of war._

Bucky realized he was smiling broadly as he hunched in his sleeping bag, the memory giving him warmth of its own.

And that pie. It was the best pie he ever had because they both earned it.

 **Addendum- the Marvel Wiki has Steve Roger's father dying in WW1 before Steve is born. I did not know that before I wrote this, but just wanted to mention it for cannon's sake. 8belles**


	8. Promises

The Notebook Ch 8

The rain had stopped and his clothes dried to a satisfactory level. Bucky got dressed, slipped on his back pack and headed out in the damp summer air to find something for his evening meal.

He passed several spots that had always yielded a good selection of cast off items. Staying to the shadows, he tried to be discrete about his garbage picking. "Hey! You!" a woman's voice called out, making Bucky flinch. He waited for the obligatory shooing off or 'I'm gonna call the cops' remark but it didn't come.

Instead, he heard footsteps behind him and turned. A nun stood before him. Only reason he knew it was a nun was she dressed very plainly and had a distinctive cross hanging from her neck on a silver chain. "Sorry." he mumbled quietly and tried to leave, but she caught his forearm with a surprisingly firm grip.

"You look like you need a warm meal." she stated.

Bucky tried a vague smile trying to remain calm with her hand still resting on his arm.

"We have a shelter. Come. Eat with us." she indicated the parish across the street. Barnes never noticed it before since being on his own but it was one of the older churches in Brooklyn. A community hall attached to the church had bright red doors at the bottom of a flight of stairs.

Barnes looked at the building and then at the middle aged nun. Making a conscious decision and remembrance that New Yorkers are kind, he was not a monster (most days) and that it had been about 48 hours since he last ate a proper meal, he acquiesced. "Thank you, Sister." he said quietly.

Standing up a bit straighter, he offered her his left arm like a gentleman as they crossed the street back toward the church. "What a nice young man you are." she commented with a warm smile, "You know we have services for homeless men, if you are interested. Depression and drug rehab."

Bucky admired her forwardness. She didn't beat around the bush.

"That is nice to know." he responded softly as they reached the curb and then down the stairs to the community hall.

It was sparsely populated with a rag tag group of homeless, mostly male. Some had mental illness, some were obviously drug addicted and a few were teens that had been tossed on the street. Bucky felt distinctly alone as he didn't fit into any one of those groups.

The kind nun showed him to the kitchen where he picked a few pieces of fried chicken, some mashed potatoes and green beans. Ironically, there was apple pie. He took a hefty slice and a glass of milk. He loved his glasses of milk.

Finding a seat wasn't hard but he chose one with the _New York Times_ sitting nearby. If he had little to say to the nun, he certainly would have nothing to say to the other men assembled.

Picking up the paper, he began to read, flipping past the pages quickly. Bucky was always a fast reader. There was something about the Sokovia Accords and the Avenger Initiative. A General Ross was mentioned. Steve's name was in the paper, as was Natasha's. Sam Wilson was there too, the guy who had been tailing him for the better part of a year. The news was anything but good.

He went to the sports section and sighed. Bucky still couldn't forgive the Dodgers for going to California. Scanning it briefly he was unimpressed by the results of various matches.

A headline did grab his attention, "Tuberculosis Rates Climb in New York". Staring at it for a moment as he chewed his dinner, he wondered why his mind focused on that. He felt it coming back as soon as he heard another homeless man cough.

 _Sarah couldn't breathe. She clutched her chest as her knees buckled to the floor at the hospital. A wet, sucking cough bubbled forward with blood. Trying desperately not too spread contagion but stay alive, she huddled on the tile gasping for air. Her coworkers called for a doctor as white coats descended upon her. "Telll my son. Steve." she gasped, her lips turning blue._

 _Bucky was watching Steve finish a large portrait he was painting of Martha Washington for his studio art final exam. The afternoon light was filtering in the high windows in a warm golden hue as Roger's reference material spread about him on his work benches and amongst his paint pots. Barnes loved watching Steve work. It was so relaxing to see his friend in his element- making art- a true passion of Steve's._

 _The peace was broken when a younger student ran into the studio, his hair disheveled by the run, "Steve!"_

 _Rogers looked up at the teen, "What?"_

 _The kid looked afraid to spill the beans, "Your mom. She's really sick. At the hospital."_

 _The paint brush fell from Rogers's nerveless fingers as Bucky saw his blue eyes go wide. A split second later, he was bolting for the door._

 _Barnes was close on his heels._

" _Mr. Rogers?" the doctor asked as he saw the twenty-something man who was the size of a high school sophomore, sucking wind after his run to the hospital. Splotches of paint covered hid pants, shirt and hands. A dab of blue was in his hair. The physician also noted the darker haired man that followed behind like a shadow._

" _Yeah. Me." Steve replied, his thin cheeks flushed, "Where's. My. Mom?"_

" _I am truly sorry, Mr. Rogers. But your mother had an acute attack of pulmonary tuberculosis. She passed not long ago." The doctor looked sympathetic and frustrated that he could not have done more for his patient._

" _What?" Steve forced himself upright, not able to look the doctor in the eye because he was too short._

" _Your mother has passed." The doctor repeated solemnly._

" _Steve." Bucky put a supportive hand on his shoulder from behind. Rogers threw it off in an angry shrug._

" _No." Steve declared angrily. "Where is she? I wanna see her!"_

" _Her body is this way." The doctor replied and showed the way._

" _No. This can't be…" Steve practically ran the doctor over when he indicated the room._

 _Bucky moved to come with him but a thin hand on his chest stopped him, "Steve. Let me help."_

 _Steve used no words but Barnes understood. The pain was so fresh in his eyes as tears pooled just below his lids. Rogers's lip trembled slightly._

 _Steve went in alone to see his mother in her deathbed._

Bucky kept eating while the sad scene played out in his mind. Taking out the 'Steve' notebook, he jotted it down. When he was done, it put it carefully away.

Wiping his mouth and thanking the folks who fixed the meal, he ascended back to the street level. It hit him suddenly in the late afternoon light why the church was not recently familiar, as things had changed in seventy years. _Something_ was familiar though. Turning the corner, a tiny cemetery sat in the shadow of the church building surrounded by an iron fence that looked like it harkened back to Revolutionary days.

He climbed the steps to the grassy area because the street had been dug down lower than the original ground level. The graveyard was packed with tombstones. He knew where he was going now; Steve's folks.

Two simple white headstones greeted him: James and Sarah Rogers.

Bucky took off his hat in respect.

In the hush of the grave yard, he wondered of all the people he killed, did he ever mourn any of them? Of course not. But he was not that man anymore.

Feeling compelled to speak to the ghosts in his past, he addressed the stones, "Mr. Rogers, you'd be real proud of your son. He's every inch a hero. He used to talk about you like that, from stories he heard about your bravery. I think you'd like the man he became."

Turning slightly, he looked at Sarah Rogers stone and smiled. She was like a second mother to him and he saw where Steve got a lot of his endearing charms and habits from. "Mrs. Rogers, I made a promise to you. I made it and kept it as long as I could. But then I got sent away to war and things didn't go well for me or Steve. I did some things I'm not proud of and lost my way. But I'm doing better now. And Steve. He's just fine too. But I promised you I'd never let anything hurt Steve and I'm trying make good on that promise. Just might take me more time than I planned. Please be patient. I'll be with him, till the end."

Standing quietly, listening to the city breathe, a fragment of peace reached him for a moment. It felt as if two angels were smiling down upon him in thanks for watching over their son.

 **Addendum: Antibiotics were first used to treat TB in 1946, long after the fictional death of Sarah Rogers.**


	9. Lucky Day

The Notebook ch 9

 **A/N- I have never ridden the NYC public transportation system (bus/train) even when I lived in very close to Manhattan. Well.. I used NJ transit into NYC then I walked/cabbed it. However, I have done all I can via the internet and Google maps to make sure Bucky's trip is as authentic as possible. But remember, this is fan fic. I also made up their school name and location. The comics make no reference to where they went to school or when they met- exactly but that Steve is Catholic.)**

Since his liberation from HYDRA, every once in a rare while, Bucky was allowed a peaceful night's sleep. The morning found him surprisingly refreshed and dream free;his state of mind was more relaxed, which was a novelty. Picking up the stolen back pack, he slipped it on and heard a jingle he had not noticed before.

Taking it off, he looked inside and found a handful of change and a few bills next to his beloved notebooks. A smile crept across his lips. Today was his lucky day.

Grabbing breakfast behind his favorite bagel shop, he pondered how he was going to actually get a real job at some point. He smirked to himself derisively that declared dead people didn't need jobs particularly after seventy years of turmoil they caused. The thought of Steve wafted by, which dampened his mood slightly. Could he ever go back to a friend he tried to kill?

Hopping on the bus after finishing his lukewarm second hand coffee, he slipped the change into the fare box and got a transfer from the driver. Bucky took a seat in the middle of the bus on a garishly upholstered seat, which was relatively unoccupied since it was after nine in the morning. A few other passengers climbed on board and took their seats.

Barnes liked the MTA because it let his mind go for a while as he got to ride in a heated (or air conditioned) bus. The drivers usually didn't mind him hanging on longer than most passengers. Once, he even helped stop a robbery and a different occasion there was a domestic dispute. It didn't end well for the aggressor thanks to Bucky.

 _Shoving the man's arm up high behind his back, feeling tendons pop, Bucky simultaneously used his hidden metal arm to press the offender's cheek to the plastic wall of the bus until it was about to crack. Bucky hissed into his ear, "That's no way to treat a lady."_

 _The man whine in pain. The police showed up and Bucky disappeared like a shadow._

Barnes smiled to himself. It was one of the few ups to help clear his conscience. He saw flyers on power poles in the following days after that incident with a 'likeness' of him saying thank you. He kept one in his hideout just to remind him on bad days that he was a good man, inside.

As the bus lurched forward into traffic, the passengers swayed in their seats. Store fronts began to roll by, and cars swerved around the slower bus. People read books, stared at their phones or held the paper up in front of their faces. Bucky sat and enjoyed being just one part of this huge New York family, feeling the sun upon his shoulders through the tinted windows.

The stop and go of the bus was soothing as was the small talk of the passengers who knew each other and he felt more human than most days. A daycare smeared by as the bus accelerated and Bucky focused on the small children playing in the fenced front grassed yard that was such a contrast from the urban surroundings.

The memory came to him as if it were only the other day.

 _St. John the Apostle school sat in the middle of the Dumbo neighborhood, a bit run down but full of pride. The sisters there were exceptionally mindful of their duty to change these rag tag children into the leaders of tomorrow with a strong moral compass. The Great Depression wouldn't happen for another five years. Work in the shipyards was plentiful and men were busy._

 _It was here James Buchanan Barnes met a very small Steven Grant Rogers._

" _You be a good boy, Steve. I don't want to hear anything about you causing Sister trouble." Sarah Rogers told her only child as she fixed his wayward blonde hair with nimble fingers before the first day of Kindergarten._

" _Yes, Momma." Steve looked adoringly up at his mother in her neatly pressed nurses uniform. Her hair was curled expertly and tucked behind the hat she wore every day, pinned in place with invisible hairpins._

 _Sister Paul approached the pair, her voluminous black robes concealing her actual body motion as if she was a large dark storm cloud, "Mrs. Rogers, I am sure he will be of no trouble. He's so small."_

 _Steve pivoted on one foot at the sound of the word 'small'. His face turned a shade of beet red and his nose scrunched up with his eyebrows pulling down over his sapphire eyes. If he was a dog, hackles would have risen up on his neck, "WHO YOU CALLIN' SMALL, LADY!?" he yelled in the loudest voice he could muster that ended with a wheeze._

 _Bucky was standing patiently with his parents, both mom and dad, observing this interaction across the playground. Mrs. Barnes was fretting over Bucky's hair too and the appearance of his uniform. James paid her no mind, but watched eagerly the younger, miniscule boy who obviously had a thing or two to learn about how to handle women._

" _Steven Grant Rogers!" Mrs. Rogers hissed out as Sister Paul's face pinched uncomfortably at the brazen comment of Steve, "What has come over you? Say you are sorry right now."_

" _But Momma… she called me 'small'." Steve complained. A lock of blond hair fell into his eyes._

" _Excuse us please." Sarah beseeched the nun and pulled Steve away by the ear to his many complaints._

 _Bucky watched Steve take his tongue lashing from his mother but he wasn't backing down. Instead, the fight seemed to make him more irritated. "I don't like bullies, Momma! She's a bully calling me 'small'. That's not nice!" Barnes heard him from across the grounds._

 _Shaking his head with a sigh, Bucky decided that this young man needed some serious help with the lady folk. He was uniquely qualified having three sisters of his own and his mom to deal with._

 _Looking at his own parents, who beamed with pride at their oldest child going to Kindergarten, he declared, "I'm gonna make some friends."_

" _Ok, dear. Be nice!" Winifred Barnes said knowing her son had a kind heart under his confident façade. His sisters had made him more sympathetic than most boys and he was also fiercely protective of his family. She gave her husband, in his neat Army uniform, a squeeze. He had asked for a bit of leave so he could see his son off to school on his first day._

 _Bucky marched his six-year-old body over to Mrs. Grant and Steve as maturely as he could, exuding confidence the whole way. When he arrived to the pair, he cleared his throat gently, " 'Scuze me. I see that your boy here is having a bit of a rough time. Can I help?"_

 _Sarah Rogers looked at the taller, heavier boy with the dark brown hair and clean blue eyes with an exasperated expression. Sometimes when Steve set his mind to something it would take an earth moving experience to get him to budge. She glanced at Steve. His eyes were filled with a mix of pigheadedness and hero worship at the taller boy._

" _And you are?" Sarah asked James._

" _Pardon me, ma'am. James Buchanan Barnes. Most folks call me Bucky. At your service." Bucky inclined his head slightly and offered to shake her hand._

 _Sarah smiled at the brash demeanor of this young man, "Sarah Rogers. And this is Steven, my son. Pleased to meet you." She took his hand and shook it firmly._

 _A charming smile spread across Barnes' face and lit up his blue eyes. Sarah thought to herself that someday, this boy would be a real lady killer._

 _Steve, satisfied that this new interloper had had_ enough _of his mother's attention interjected himself, "Steve. Don't call me Stevie. That's for babies."_

" _Of course. Steve." Bucky smoothly took his hand from Mrs. Barnes and offered it to Steve._

 _Steve shook it firmly, a hint of fire still in his eyes._

" _Now that we're all introduced, lets see if we can patch things up with old penguin over there." Bucky nodded his head in the vicinity of Sister Paul. Steve giggled briefly and even Sarah had to smile with the way he said 'penguin'._

 _Bucky marched straight up to Sister Paul with Steve in tow by the hand, "Sister Paul. My new friend here is just a tad overwhelmed by all the commotion. I hope you will forgive his indis… indesre… indiscretion." Bucky pushed the last word out as it tied his tongue slightly, a rarity._

 _Sister Paul looked down from her adult height and voluminous robes and smiled a tight smile, "It is forgiven, my child."_

" _Great. Glad we can put that behind us. Now, when is recess?" Bucky asked brightly._

Bucky had pulled out his 'Steve' notebook and wrote that down, word for word, picture perfect. The first time he met Steven Grant Rogers, the fool who was too stubborn to run away from a fight.

 _Lunch found the boys sitting next to each other with their meal. Steve was voracious and finished what was on his plate, jealously eyeing Barnes' food. James handed him a roll. Steve grabbed it and stuffed it into his mouth. Bucky shook his head again. This kid was going to need some work._

" _So. Tell me about yourself." Bucky stated as he chewed his boiled beef._

 _Steve looked at him with a mouthful, taking a drink of milk to moisten the bread, "Whadda want to know?"_

" _I dunno. What's your family like?" Barnes replied with a shrug._

" _It's jus' my mom and me. She's a nurse at the city hospital." Steve replied still chewing the roll._

" _And your dad?" Bucky asked with the innocence of a six-year-old._

" _He's dead." Rogers returned, trying to keep the disappointment off his face._

 _Bucky sat for a moment to let that awkwardness pass. He knew kids who lost their folks to disease or the World War. But not one he just met. Even to him, that felt unexpected._

" _Sorry." Barnes offered, glancing at the blonde boy._

" _S'ok. He was killed in… action. In Europe, mom says." Rogers replied nonchalantly, drinking down the rest of his milk. A white mustache formed on his upper lip._

" _My dad's in the army too. He trains the soldiers." Bucky tried to smooth over the rough patch._

" _Really? I'd like to join someday. Be brave and fight the bad guys." Steve brightened a bit, his skinny bird chest sticking out._

" _Yeah. I hear about some of the things he's seen. Doesn't seem like lots of fun." James replied thoughtfully._

" _I guess. I just want to beat up the bad guys. Too many of them always picking on the small and weaker folks. That's not fair. America was made to be fair and anyone who is mean is a jerk." Steve returned, the fire from earlier stoking in his eyes._

 _Bucky changed the subject, "I have three sisters."_

" _I don't have any." Steve commented, a bit more dejected than he anticipated._

" _Well, I always wanted a brother." Bucky sighed realizing how much he_ _ **missed**_ _male conversation._

 _Steve looked Bucky up and down and then sat up real straight next to him on the common bench they all perched on, "Well, I'll be your brother, if you want."_

 _Bucky considered the idea in his mind. Sure they both had blue eyes and… well that where the resemblance stopped. Blonde to brown, tall to short, heavy to thin. No one would ever believe they were really related. "But we don't look nothing alike."_

 _Steve smiled a beaming smile and poked Bucky in the chest, right above his heart, "Yeah, but I know we're the same in here. That's all that matters, right?"_

 _Barnes considered his logic and agreed, "I think you're right there, Rogers. Brothers it is!"_

 _Spitting into his palm, he offered it to Steve, who did the same._

 _With a firm, phlegmy handshake, one of the best brotherhoods was born._

 _It was 1924._


	10. Tony Stark

The Notebook ch 10

The bus stopped and people got on and off. Bucky watched them come and go as passenger listening to a news blog without headphones sat down near him.

"…. And today at the United Nations, representatives have assembled to discuss the Avenger Initiative. Expected to speak is Prince T'Challa of the country Wakanda about recent events in his country related to the metal vibranium and its uses by Stark Industries for various technologies, namely Ultron. The Avengers, who have had access to them, as well as the destruction caused by Ultron, has become an internationally contentious issue." Bucky began to listen intently. "It is anticipated that Tony Stark will also speak at the meeting. He has hinted at a resolution for the countries who are clamoring for restitution and justice for the Avenger's actions, which has cost billions of dollars and many lives, worldwide."

Bucky heard that name 'Tony Stark' and before he could process the rest of the news broadcast, the memory hit him like a truck.

 _The Winter Soldier moved unnoticed upon the roof tops. Roosting pigeons watched him go by, unconcerned. There below him sprawled the opulent Upper East Side of New York. HYDRA sent him on a task involving a politician's wife. She apparently was not giving them back the intel they desired at a rate they desired. He was there to remind her of her duties, or face consequences._

 _The thumping base of bad 1990's dance music emanated from the nightclub. It was audible even where he perched at the edge of the roof. Limos came and went, depositing their wealthy cargos at the doorways. Occasionally paparazzi would flash photos of clandestine couples or hot Hollywood stars entering or exiting the establishment._

 _The Winter Soldier waited. He had been tailing the woman for the better part of the day, waiting for the opportune time to strike. He was infinitely patient. His focus was singular._

 _Suddenly, an eruption of noise came up to his ears. Flashes of light from cameras erupted as a huge Hummer strech limo, that was_ _ **flying**_ _down the street, pulled up to the nightclub. It landed smartly on huge tires as the internally hidden turbines powered down in a gust of wind that destroyed hairstyles and flew a few skirts in embarrassing directions._

 _The Solider observed closely, not out of curiosity, but for information. There was no curiosity in the Soldier anymore. The flying limo did not impress him. Flicking down his night vision binoculars, he watched the doorman open the limo door. A cheer erupted from the assembled crowd as a few scantily clad ladies emerged in their finest club attire of 'barely there' and 'glittery'._

 _Then he emerged._

 _Dressed al la 'Miami Vice' in sherbet colored sport coat and black t-shirt, a twenty-year-old Tony Stark emerged from the vehicle. His black hair was slicked at the sides and tousled into a gelled sculpture on the top. With a flourish, he waved and smiled for the cameras. A few more ladies emerged from the limo and finally James Rhodes materialized._

 _The Soldier could hear, through his magnifying earbuds, a few voices call out, "Tony! Over here!" for photos and then the odd "Tony! You're not 21 yet!"_

 _To that Stark turned with a brilliant smile, "I graduated MIT at seventeen. I think I've earned a drink." A round of chuckles erupted around him._

 _Grabbing one of his female companions by the waist, he and his entourage entered the nightclub._

 _The Winter Solider took note of the man, Tony Stark. Mutely, he filed the face, voice and name away in case HYDRA ever had need of it. The Winter Solider did not think about meeting him in the future or any particular reason. HYDRA might be concerned in this man. Information was valuable in the present or the future._

 _As Tony Stark entered club, the Soldier's target departed it. He noted his mission and stood up to intercept her._

Bucky blinked in the daylight and realized that his bus ride had taken him deeply into Manhattan near the United Nations building. The bus detoured as traffic slowed due to the security surrounding the venue as heads of state arrived for their meeting. Blue lights of NYPD flashed off buildings as the dignitaries made their arrival.

The bus shifted in mass as it turned left to drive up two blocks of East 38th before resuming its northerly course on Second Street. As Barnes looked out the window, the bus turned right showing the UN briefly. A flash of blinding light; he instinctively knew was bomb. Crouching with lightening speed, the blast sound came with a deafening roar blowing out windows and setting off car alarms.

People screamed.

Chaos ensued.

Bucky knew right then, New York wasn't home any more.


	11. Always Prepared

**A/N- The Russo brothers have said recently on camera, that Bucky is not the same James of CAFA, nor is he the Winter Soldier either. What he is has yet to be revealed. I'm trying to capture that—"Who the Hell** _ **is**_ **Bucky?"**

HYDRA weren't the only ones to keep safe houses around the world. A small part of the Winter Soldier realized, when he was thawed out, that someday in the future small parcels of cash or other necessities would be useful. "Plan for today, prepare for tomorrow." or was it "Always Prepared?" _Never mind who said it, just move your ass_ , Bucky angrily muttered to himself as he gathered his few possessions and shoved them unceremoniously into his backpack along with his priceless notebooks full of memories.

Exiting his hideout, he looked around him before stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight. Bucky had ditched the bus after the United Nations explosion and hiked his way back to Brooklyn, which was no mean feat. After 9/11 and the Chitauri invasion, NYPD and TSA responded a whole lot quicker to disasters and Barnes did not want his face turning up anywhere on the multitude of surveillance cameras scattered about the city.

Keeping low, to alleys and ways not used by the modern occupants of the city, he dodged cops, FBI and anyone else who looked like they had an agenda. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Steve had shown up to help in the wreckage of the UN. He could imagine Rogers, carrying people to safety, propping up loose rubble to let those under escape, being the hero he always was.

The thought of seeing Steve again made him run away faster. A lump of insecurity rose in his chest. He wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Right then, more than anything, Barnes hoped desperately that his first cache of supplies was still there.

 _1999, Y2K was shaking the city at New Years. Some folks reveled in the streets for the countdown, others were apocalyptic preppers, waiting for the demise of the civilized world when the clock turned over to 2000. The Winter Soldier had finished a small mission for HYDRA by eliminating a few select programmers who were working on the Y2K patch for Wall Street. It was a record time for him, he noted, but eggheads were never hard to kill. It was almost like taking candy from a baby._

 _Feeling a bit magnanimous for some strange reason, he actually listened to the dying pleas of his last victim. "Please! Don't hurt… my family." The bearded, bespectacled man gasped as the hole in his chest filled crimson._

 _The Winter Soldier regarded the dying man quizzically searching the mission files in his mind. Yes, the programmer's wife was on the Soldier's list for tonight as if the he was the Grim Reaper or twisted Santa Claus collecting wicked children. The programmer had young children. They lived not far away from this office. As the last breath escaped the man, the Winter Soldier detached the programmer's dead clutching hand from his left arm and stood up. Looking around, the Soldier admired his work. A minuscule shred of self preservation crept out from behind the HYDRA brainwashing._ _ **Get the wife to make you something. You have the time.**_

 _The Solider decided yes, he did have the time because he was so effective. Stepping out into the frigid December air, he made a beeline to the family's address._

" _Mommy, who is that man?" the timorous voice of the child asked, peeking around the corner of the doorway at his mother typing away madly at her PC. The only light was the blue wash of the CPU and the TV broadcasting 'Casey Kasem's New Year's Bash from Times Square '. The Winter Soldier stood monolithic next to the woman. What the child couldn't see behind his mother was the large pistol pointed at her head. Her face was a mask of death in the pale, cold light._

" _Baby, go back to sleep. He's a… friend. From work. It's ok." The mother lied as best as she could, feeling bile rise up in her throat from the terror next to her._

" _You sure?" the child pressed. Bucky raised his dead eyes from the mother's head. They met in the air, and the boy shrank back as if he had looked the Devil in the face._

" _Yes. Go!" the sharpness in her tone could have cut flesh._

 _The child disappeared. The Soldier could hear the pitter patter of his feet and a door quickly close as if he was chased by the Boogie Man._

" _Don't hurt them. You can kill me but for godsake don't hurt my children!" she implored in a whimper as she coded in the dark._

 _The Winter Soldier said nothing but gave her a stiff nudge with the barrel. She doubled down on her coding._

 _When he left, he had a thumb drive. On that thumb drive was the ability to scramble facial recognition software. Combining it with HYDRA, or was it better described as S.H.I.E.L.D., tech, the Soldier could walk unrecognized anywhere._

 _The woman lay on the floor, unconscious. The Soldier, again feeling atypically merciful, only used a fraction of a dose of amnesiac instead of the lethal one. New Years day, she'd wake with only a headache attributed to a bit too much drinking, the vague feeling of a dream and a little boy's nonsensical nightmare to deal with. The death of her husband would not refresh her memory but only confuse it. It wouldn't make sense. Not until years later when that little boy grew up and joined S.H.I.E.L.D. as a computer programmer and survived it's fall from grace to work on the ATCU team under Director Coulson, who was dead after all. That's how Coulson liked it._

 _The clock ticked down. The handlers would be waiting at the rendezvous point. If he was late, he'd face a punishment. He was not in the mood for a punishment but he'd get one anyway for not killing that woman. The mission was failed. However, when preparing for the future, sometimes you had to accept some set backs._

 _Finding the loose brick in the turn of the century warehouse, he pried it out with a knife point. The delicate facial concealer mask he stole at a different time was still there from his last job, golden webbing glinting invitingly. With a tender touch, he added the thumb drive he would need to program the mask, should he ever require it in the future._

 _Replacing the brick, he nudged it gently into place with the butt of the knife. New York counted down..3…2…1. Happy year 2000. The Winter Soldier returned to his handlers. The punishment was waiting. He knew it. It didn't matter. He was prepared for the future._

Bucky scoured his fragmented memory as he looked desperately at every exterior wall of the remaining 1900's brick warehouses in the Dumbo neighborhood. The light was fading as the accent lights on the Brooklyn Bridge illuminated and street lights flickered on. Many of the old buildings had been torn down, turned into gentrified 'loft condominiums' or still worked as warehouses. Trick was, which one was it that he hid that mask in?

A fear began to fill his chest, which was almost a novel feeling for Bucky, one he had not felt in a long time. What if the building was gone? What if the mask was damaged? What if the code was too old or water had gotten into the thumb drive? Panic set in and began to make Bucky sweat a cold sweat, breath coming in gulps.

Finally, he had had enough. **Stop** , he commanded himself. Almost becoming his own handler, he ceased moving and stood there facing a red brick wall. Inhaling, exhaling, the next sensation he expected was the blast of cold that signaled the beginning of the cryogenic process. But it was summer in New York and no cold came. Thinking back, he tried to skip over the murderous part when he killed the computer scientists. Fast forwarding was difficult when the memories came in fits and starts. The little boy. The terrified woman. The building.

Finally, as if he had GPS in his brain, he remembered which one it was.

Opening his eyes, he ran to it as quickly as possible without attracting attention.

The wall was there, although covered in layers of graffiti. He counted up to the wobbly brick and miraculously it pried loose. Covered in dust, was the golden mask. Farther back, the thumb drive sat in the hollow depression. Bucky exhaled not realizing he had been holding his breath. Gingerly pulling out the two devices, he moved away from the wall to the arch of a doorway to examine the technology.

Plugging in the UBS of the thumb drive to the detachable port on the mask, it illuminated. "Oh thank God.", he muttered glad the battery was still reliable. But for how long, was the question? He sat down and spread the gold mask across his lap. It illuminated softly as a touch screen, years ahead of Apple's click wheel, considering it was made in 1999. Bucky maneuvered through several faces until he found one that would look the least like him. Choosing a few more options, he programmed the mask. The battery would be good for 48 hours. That would give him plenty of time to get out of New York.

He allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he finished up before he heard the voice nearby.

"Hey cuz. Whatcha got there?" the male voice asked from around the corner.

Bucky closed his eyes for a brief moment. He really didn't need this right now.

Looking up from his seated position, four men approached. "Nothing. I'm just a bum. I got nothin'."

"That's not what I see there. Care to share?" the first man asked the question that was more a statement as he approached Barnes.

"Don't make me do this." Bucky replied almost wearily noting the proximity of the talker and the other three men who looked armed with only knives.

"Do what?" the talker almost jeered.

Bucky lashed out with his concealed left arm grabbing the mans' knee and crushing it. He fell screaming in pain as Barnes leapt up from his seat, dropping the mask into his backpack that leaned against the wall. The other three men squared up on Bucky who met the first with a few jabs to the face before whipping around to take on the knife heading for his back. A round house kick disarmed the man, breaking his forearm.

The attacker with the crushed knee rummaged into Bucky's pack between gasps of pain and found the mask. "Hey- Catch!" With a toss he flung it to the still able bodied assailant. The man caught it out of the air and began to run.

"NO!" Bucky yelled watching the man run away. His vision blurred into black. Suddenly, the Winter Soldier picked up the knife of the previous attacker and hurled it precisely at the running man. He fell forward, dead.

Turning to the two men left, the Soldier picked up a loose brick, weighing it in his hand.

"Hey… no. I was… we didn't… really… Hey, stop!" the man with the crushed knee begged. A swift blow ended his pleas as did the other left behind.

The brick, dripping with gore fell from his nerveless fingers.

Breathing fast, he looked at the carnage he produced. The murder didn't scare him, but instead how fast the Winter Soldier took over his mind. That made him feel cold all over. Bucky absently rubbed his left arm.

Suddenly remembering the mask, he ran to it. It had fallen out of the dead man's hand and landed a few feet away. The almost twenty-year-old tech looked alright until Barnes turned it on. A brief flicker of gold and it shorted. "Damn! Where is Howard Stark when you need him." Bucky growled then remembered, Howard was dead too.

With a frustrated sigh, he stood up and tried to breathe some magic back into the gold web. As he approached his back pack, the mask flickered to life but the battery life was reduced. Twenty-four hours to get out of New York.

Looking up at the now twilight skyline, he exhaled. It would have to do. He had no other choice.

* * *

On a video surveillance camera posted on the nearby street lamp, Sam Wilson watched Bucky Barnes pick up his backpack and move away from the warehouse. He knew Barnes had a face transforming mask, but not what face he had chosen. All Sam knew was he was still dangerous, armed or not, and on the move, scared.


	12. Designated Driver

**A/N: I do not speak French- so my pardon to native speakers. Google translate is my friend. Also, the ATCU is from the TV show Agents of Shield, which is connected to the larger MCU. Mild language in this one.**

Hitchhiking out of New York is always a challenge even for the experienced road wanderer. New Yorkers are typically wary folks, and the U.N. bombing reignited the instinctual mistrust of strangers. Buck received many honks and a few hand gestures flying out the window aimed in his general direction. Bearing it all in stride, he smiled and waved, thinking mutinous thoughts, and worrying how he was going to get as far away from here as quickly as possible.

The mask lay tucked into the inner pocket of his canvas jacket. Without its full capacity, he didn't want to use it until he absolutely had to. Patting it absently, it reassured him. In the other vest pocket was a collection of cash he has scooped up from the various HYDRA safe houses after the fall of the Triskelion before the FBI and CIA cleaned them out. A fake German passport also rested there with the cash.

Left gloved thumb out, he walked on in the shoulder of I-95N hoping for a quick ride up to Hartford, or Boston or even Maine before he found a plane to take him far away.

The darkness of night and monotony of the walk as the headlights cast long, quick moving shadows made Bucky's mind drift to the point that he didn't notice the car tires crunching up behind him on the shoulder of the highway.

A brief horn toot shook him out of his distraction. "Hey! You. Need a ride?" the young man with a shock of reddish blonde hair said as he stuck his head out his window.

Bucky turned and blinked for a moment then remembered to respond, "Yeah. Sure."

As Barnes approached, the young man told some of his companions to move some stuff in the back seat. The rear passenger door opened on the SUV. Three college aged men looked at the weary Bucky, broad smiles on their faces and the light of youthful optimism in their eyes.

"Thanks." Barnes said quietly and got into the vehicle.

"Where you headed?" the driver had a distinctive Boston accent.

"Boston." Bucky replied as he felt the eyes of the other two on him in the dark as they driver negotiated rejoining traffic with a few more honks and choice words.

"Perfect! We're going there too." The driver smiled in the rear view mirror. "What's your name?"

"James." Bucky replied trying to look more at ease. It had been a long time since he was in the company of other people who wanted to converse. No one on the bus or trains ever spoke to him much except to tell him to move on.

"Glad to meet you, James. Or do you like Jimmy? Or Jim?" the driver asked but didn't wait for the reply. Bucky had a flash of thought that reminded him of Dum Dum. "This here is Tomas –" the front passenger waved a hand gesture, "And it's TO-mas. He's all French Canadian. Too good for us Yanks!"

"Va te faire foutre." Tomas replied nonchalantly. Bucky understood what he said and smiled slightly. A WWII vision of spunky Jacques Dernier in his funny cap and long mustache appeared. Barnes began to wonder if he was in a car of Howling Commandos.

"Too good to use English?" the driver chuckled dryly but then diverted his attention to the man sitting on Bucky's left, "That's Tre. He's from Harlem."

Tre flashed a bright smile on dark skin, "And our chauffer, you can call him Ishmael."

"Screw you Tre." The driver laughed, "I'm Grant."

"Pleased." Barnes replied softly, "Thanks for taking me north."

"Hell, who in this car has ever needed a ride? Right?" The affable Grant replied as his friends rolled eyes and chuffed at what Bucky could guess were some _very interesting_ stories. "So where you from?"

The SUV began to warm with the male bodies and Bucky was wondering if he'd have a PTSD episode. He cracked the window next to him for some New York air. "Brooklyn."

"Alright, cuz." Tre smiled celebrating their local brotherhood, "How about those Yankees?!"

"Actually, I'm a Dodger fan." Barnes replied glancing at his back seat partner.

"The Dodgers?" Tre was struck, "What kind of effed up logic is that?"

Barnes swallowed trying to keep up the calm exterior. This was the most conversation he'd had really since…. Since he couldn't remember. "It's a… family thing. My… grandpa was a fan when they were still in Brooklyn."

"Ah. I get it. Legacy fan." Tre nodded sagely. "Understood."

"How about them Red Sox!" Grant chimed in from the front seat.

"And what about them?" Tre sneered. "Can you deflate a baseball?"

"C'mon man! Brady was framed!" Grant protested. Bucky gave a small chuckle. He'd read the headlines about the 'deflate-gate'. He agreed, Tom Brady and Belichick were cheaters. The car got quiet for a moment.

Bucky decided to be brave and ask a question, "And do you have a team, Tomas?" The words left his mouth like marbles spilling out of a cup; a bit clunky.

Tomas didn't reply right away, while Grant and Tre paid no attention to their friend's lack of response. Barnes felt a bit snubbed. Gathering the swagger of his youth, he phrased it differently, "Et avez-vous un equipe, Tomas?"

The aloof Tomas turned slowly so he didn't betray his surprise, "I like the Toronto Blue Jays."

"Not a bad team." Bucky agreed with shard of a confident smile. Tomas nodded in agreement.

"I'm thirsty." Grant blurted out.

"You are the most _random_ guy ever." Tre replied with a hint of irritation, "Aren't we trying to get back to Boston before classes tomorrow?"

"You know- you engineers are all the same. All work and no play." Grant scoffed over his shoulder, "It's like a four-hour drive to Boston from here. We have _plenty_ of time.

"Dude, unlike you biologists, I have a _job_ waiting for me after I get my 4.0." Tre laughed.

"In a cubicle, wasting away like Dilbert." Grant shot back. To Bucky it looked like this was a common joke between the two. "Tomas? How about a beer?"

"Fine by me." the reserved Tomas commented.

"And our esteemed guest, James?" Grant offered.

Bucky felt the cool breeze from the open window watching the taillights pass as this city he was born and raised in flash by in streaks of color, but mostly red like blood. An unexpected sadness came over him watching his home turn on him. Maybe a beer would do some good to forget for a change instead of all these memories.

"I don't have any money." He lied.

"No problem, my friend. No problem." Grant declared and they exited the highway to search for a bar.

* * *

The ATCU, CIA, FBI and TSA had every camera in the city scanning facial recognition software for Barnes. Every train station, airport terminal, bus depot and virtually every taxi cab was under surveillance. Men in uniform and plainclothes were all on high alert for the former assassin.

They never expected the Winter Soldier to go out for a beer with three college students.

* * *

"So then-" Grant slurred, "she says to me that I'm not right for her!"

"Oh, dude. That's bullshit." Tre sympathized on his fourth beer, a bit of spit spraying out with his enunciation. Tomas began to giggle almost gleefully. Apparently the silent one was a really goofy drunk.

Bucky observed and absorbed. The beer in his hand was the same one he had been sipping on all night. He almost felt like a real person again, in the company of others.

"So, friend! How do I get her back?" a sad puppy faced, beer breathed Grant implored Barnes.

"Let her go." Bucky returned. The image of Peggy Carter ignoring his advances with her eyes firmly on Steve bubbled up. In hind sight, it brought a sad smile to his lips. Steve lost her too in the end; Barnes had read the obituary in the _Times_.

 _It was 1989_

" _You will not get the Pym Particle from me, Soldier." Peggy's aged voice still resonated with authority despite the metal arm pressed to her throat. The rough concrete wall of the SHIELD headquarters prickled her through her impeccable tweed coat into her bony shoulders._

 _The Winter Soldier didn't recognize the woman he had hit on in the British pub forty years ago; the object of Steve Roger's affection. He was there for one thing: the Pym particle. And she was going to give it to him or die._

 _Silent behind his mask, he began to apply pressure to her neck. Peggy's breaths came in shorter gasps when she finally kneed him in the stomach._

 _Startled, the Soldier released her slightly as it was difficult for a 68-year-old woman to generate much force to hurt him, but just enough to surprise him. She wriggled free and pulled the fire alarm on the wall._

 _Cover blown, he knew he'd have to make a run for it or risk being captured. The punishment that awaited him would be inconsequential to what SHIELD would do to him._

 _Sprinting away, he left the elderly Peggy Carter leaning against the concrete wall rubbing her throat._

"But I can't!" Grant said forlorn. Bucky didn't hear him as he was still lost in that hallway in 1989.

Tomas stopped giggling long enough to distract Grant and Tre from Bucky's spaced out look. He announced he was going to the restroom and promptly fell on his face. Tre and Grant erupted in a fit of laughter as they tried to help the Canadian off the floor. In the end, the other two became a heap of beer swill, laughing and complaining to get off of each other.

Barnes snapped out of his reverie. Looking down at the pile of twentysomethings, he shook his head. Looks like he was driving all of them to Boston.

The car door closed as Bucky neatly tucked body parts inside the car of the drunken men. "You know what?" Grant slurred, "For a guy I just met… you sure are awesome."

Bucky smiled reassuringly at Grant and then hopped in the driver's seat. They would be in Boston by morning. The other two were fast asleep already in the back seat, their heads affectionately pillowed upon each other. Grant insisted on taking a photo. Bucky helped him aim and click. Then he had to talk Grant out of taking a photo of the two of them.

Shortly after rejoining traffic on I-95, Grant too was unconscious. The SUV began to smell like cheap beer and sweaty men. Barnes cracked the window again.

Bucky enjoyed the silence and the driving, sticking strictly to the speed limit.

The next morning, the trio of friends found themselves parked at Logan International Airport. Bucky left they keys but no note of thanks. Their headaches provided the only memory of their hitchhiking friend who became their designated driver.

 **Post script- I am a biologist. My husband is an engineer. We often had 'arguments' about which science field is better. Obviously, biology. Sorry- no apologies to Patriots fans. Go Bears**


	13. Leaving on a Jet Plane

The mask held to his face but it made his skin crawl like stepping into a spider web. Twenty-four hours to be someone else able to walk down the street without fear of discovery. Then it was up to his old ways of skulking around alleys and befriending shops for food handouts. And writing down his memories so they could never be taken away again.

Switching it on in the bathroom stall, he checked in the mirror of the men's room to make sure it had adhered properly and was functioning correctly. The face staring back at him was as plain as they came. Being that the tech was twenty years old, he felt confident that the faces he had to choose from would not be in the facial recognition databases he was bound to encounter. Tucking his hair more neatly under his ball cap, he tried in vain to make his clothes look just a _little_ neater and less like a bum. It was a failing task.

Patting the fake German passport and cash in his coat pocket, he adjusted his backpack straps and stepped out into Logan airport's international terminal.

"One please. Dusseldorf. Danke." Bucky accented his English and produced the cash and passport to the ticket counter employee. He looked Barnes up and down with a pinched expression. The calm, serene everywhere woman's voice emanated from the overhead speakers about how the terror alert was at an all-time high level and if anyone saw anything, they should say something. Bucky ignored it like it was elevator music.

Barnes stayed completely still and neutral. The passport went through with no glitches and the ground crewman didn't even blink when he handed over the cash.

"Here you go Mr. Heimdahl. Have a pleasant flight." The employee returned the passport and the two-way ticket; one way tickets looked suspicious.

"Danke." Bucky replied, gathering his things to go through security and grabbing a paper bag tag from the counter.

Seeing the people queued up for TSA security, Barnes took a deep breath. This would be the challenge of his identify cover. It had been 48 hours since the U.N. exploded. His real face appeared on the TV's tucked in the surrounding restaurants. Barnes could see Tony Stark giving a speech behind a podium. His voice was inaudible.

"Sir you need to take off your coat and hat. Shoes too." The TSA attendant interrupted Barnes' blankness.

"Oh. Excuse me." he replied with his German accented voice pulling off his shoes, revealing very worn, smell and unwashed socks. The people around him gave embarrassed and disgusted looks.

" _Lady, my momma… she's got four of us at home to feed! Please! Jus' buy a paper!" Bucky swallowed his pride and begged the lady with the mink collared coat and cashmere hat upon her head as she clicked by on the cobble stoned streets. He waved a folded_ _New York Times_ _at her._

" _I'd never buy a paper from a filthy cur like you." she spat hotly not even looking at the small ten-year-old Barnes and turned away to continue her walk._

 _In his mind, he peppered her back with a thousand daggers feeling ashamed to even be there on the street. He was just trying to help feed his family._

"Hey buddy, you going to keep moving?" a gruff voice behind him asked.

"Sorry." he muttered and gathered his shoes, placing them in the bin. The last think he shoved through was his beloved backpack. If he lost that, he didn't know what he'd do.

They slid through on the conveyor belt as the TSA agent behind the screen scrutinized the x-ray. Bucky stepped into the scanner machine, hands above his head. The metal detector went off loudly. Barnes closed his eyes in frustration. Hydra had implanted a cloaking device in the arm years ago. Typically it was on constantly. He guessed it was a lack of maintenance that broke it.

"Sir, please step this way." a burly TSA agent directed him to a screening area. He nervously watched for his backpack to appear from the x-ray machine as he wondered about how he was going to conceal his metal arm. It slid out from the conveyor belt and another agent brought it to his screening area. "Sir, we are going to search your belongings and screen you further for safety."

"Of course." Barnes managed to grit out in a quasi-German accent.

The second TSA agent, a woman, unzipped the backpack and carefully lifted out the notebooks. Bucky looked at them tensely. His life, what was left of it, was there in her hands. She briefly flipped through them and then reached the first one he stole from the grade schooler with Steve's picture on it.

"Oh look. Captain America. What a great guy. You a fan?" she said conversationally. Bucky tried not to stare at the cover too hard or look too unusual.

Bucky forced a smile, heart hammering in his chest for fear the notebooks would be confiscated from him. He nodded slightly.

"Me too. I think he's just so awesome. I don't care what Tony Stark or General Ross say. I think Cap's doing the right thing. Don't you?" she smiled at him pleasantly as she replaced the notebooks back into the backpack, zipping up tight.

"I guess so." Bucky replied, his voice taut.

"Sir, please extend your arms. I need to use this metal detector wand." The first burley guard stated plainly.

Bucky spread his arms and legs apart reluctantly.

The world began to blur and spin.

" _Seargent Barnes! The procedure has already begun!" Zola's voice called out in an evil Swiss accented hiss. A bone saw revved up just out of sight. He was strapped to a table, arms and legs wide._

Inside the haze of his abrupt flashback, he heard another wail of an alarm behind him. "Man! I'm just trying to get to my fam in Detroit! C'mon man!" it was Dave from Ant Man's team setting up a distraction. Frozen in place with his PTSD, he only barely noticed the larger man dropped the wand and ran to address the emergency happening at another line. There was the sound of a brief scuffle that Bucky could't make out, but the man didn't return to finish his scanning of Barnes.

The friendly woman TSA agent picked up the wand and briefly went over Bucky, ironically skipping his arms. Barnes didn't want to know why. A brief squawk happened but she patted his left chest pocked, pulling out a pair of old, worn dog tags with her blue gloved hand. Reading them she commented with a knowing smile, "All done sir. Thank you for your cooperation. Have a nice flight." the lady agent handed Barnes his bag and the dog tags. Bucky had to catch his breath as the vision faded.

"Thank you." He said quietly and left as fast as he could without causing alarm. He couldn't get to Germany fast enough.

The blonde watched Barnes leave and spoke briefly into her shirt collar, "Season's changing."

"Roger that, Agent 13." the voice of Sam sounded in her ear.

* * *

Scott sat in the van with Luis in the driver seat. Kurt and Sam were crammed in the back with their various surveillance equipment. The interior was getting uncomfortably warm.

"Good job, Dave. Get out safe." Scott said into his com. Hopefully Dave didn't push too hard unlike when he stole that police crown vic at Pym's lab.

"Was that him? Sharon says it was. Heading to Dusseldorf. " Sam said brusquely trying to keep his cool. Steve had a lot counting on him.

"Yeah man. Was that him?" Luis parroted to Kurt, who was searching every facial database he could get his hands on.

"You know, it's a good ting dat I am frum Russia." Kurt replied his eyebrows beetling over his eyes as the blue glow of the screen illuminated his face.

"Why is that?" Scott asked over his shoulder.

"Because… " a few key strokes punctuated his speech, "We know how to fine those who don't vant to be found." A few more clicks and clacks, "Gotcha, Mr. Winter Soldier."

Sam allowed himself a small smile.

Looks like they were going to Germany.

 **A/N… Ok… we got 10 days (longer for me, but I won't get into details.) Enjoy! Thanks for READING! And #TEAMCAP !**


	14. Longing

Longing

A small part of him felt immediately at home as he walked cautiously up the jet bridge in Dusseldorf. The languages that he had stuffed into his head were as fresh as they day they programmed him in 1943. That was probably the nicest thing HYDRA ever did for him, was make him a polyglot. A grim smile slid over his lips at the thought of HYDRA doing anything **nice** for him.

The only thing he carried with him was his backpack of memories. Pulling his ever-present ball cap down over his eyes, he made his way to customs with a minimum of attention. The German passport passed muster and he quickly made his way to public transportation. Wracking his brains, he thought he recalled an old HYDRA stash of necessities in Eastern Germany assuming it hadn't been bulldozed in 1989 after the reunification and tearing down of the Berlin Wall.

A chill ran down his spine. The late 80's and early 90's were not one of his favorite times.

Overhead, a sign directed him to the trains. There he bought a ticket and climbed onboard a regional express train for the ride to Frankfort. Settling in his seat, he kept his hat low and collar turned up. The battery on his face mask was about to expire. As the train pulled out of the station, jet lag began to catch up with him and he drifted off into a light sleep.

 _He saw it coming in his drugged haze. The hard metal back of the chair bit into his muscles and his wrists and ankles ached from the braces holding him firm. Coldness emanated from him; the room feeling like a furnace to his chilled skin. The book. Red, like crimson blood and a black star that sucked all light into it was held in the Corporal's hands, his maroon cap tilted jauntily to the right. The book. A kindly, almost gentle look, washed over the face of the Corporal, like an owner observing his favorite pet. Out of his hazy peripheral vision, Soldat could blurrily see the headgear that would be strapped to his face in a few moments. He could feel his heart began to pound, singing blood past his ears in a dull roar as a tiny part of his mind cowered in terror._

 _Looking around the room, in preparation, the Russian began, "Longing"_

 _PAIN._

Startling from his nap, Bucky clutched his bag to his chest reflexively feeling the dewy fibrous net of his mask clinging to his stubble reminiscent of the headgear that had been strapped to his skull. With a startled gasp, he ripped it from his face, trying to catch his breath. Suddenly, he remembered where he was and froze. Luckily, the only other person near him was also asleep. Heart pounding, that familiar sound of blood singing, he tried to calm himself.

The words.

The book.

Where was it?

Bucky suddenly had a mission.


	15. Rusted

Rusted

"What do you mean he's gone?" Steve's exasperated voice came over the phone into Sam's ear.

"We lost him. Somewhere in Dusseldorf. There were complications." Wilson replied wearily scraping a tired hand over his face. The Accords were galvanizing countries against the Avengers. Sam and his group found out they were rapidly becoming persona non grata. They all felt as if a giant political noose was being tightened around their individual necks.

A fatigued sigh reached Roger's ears from Sam. Rogers glanced guiltily at the floor. Bucky wasn't Sam's issue. Barnes was his. "Ok. I'm coming over there."

"Wait… what about the Accords?" Sam snapped his eyes open, pressing the phone to his ear harder.

"Damn them all. I'm not guilty of anything, nor am I signing anything. I'm sure as hell not going to let Bucky take the fall for this. He didn't do this, Sam. I know he didn't." Steve stated brusquely.

"And T'Challa?" Sam added. The prince, now King of Wakanda, made it clear that he was going to make short order of the Winter Soldier; his father had died in the blast at the UN.

There was silence then a soft, "I'll deal with that later."

Wilson added his own silence not sure what direction to help point Steve in, if there _was_ any right direction.

Steve looked out the window of his Brooklyn apartment noticing the rain just starting to fall and hung up. Bucky never liked the rain.

* * *

Bucky exited the train in Frankfort with the rush hour crush of people exiting, diving down below the track platform and crawling on hands and knees till he reached a service drain. Pulling at the grate, he saw the hinges were rusted. With a fierce yank of his left arm, he wrenched it open and crawled inside. No surveillance cameras would find him down here. He moved a few feet back into the tunnel out of the puddles of filth and grime that were perpetually present in sewers.

The smell brought back a flicker of a memory; something horrible, disgusting and vile. He tried to choke it down but the odor overwhelmed him as the memory burst forth.

 _The dour corporal looked around the dark, damp concrete room at his new creations. Six new Winter Soldiers, three men, three women, were caged, strapped down to beds by thick leather restraints. Sometimes they moaned or made sobbing sounds, but mostly they stayed quiet. They had been laying there for weeks. The air was pungent with the smell of their sweat, urine, blood and even feces. The worst part of the revolting bouquet was their fear._

 _Soldat could smell that overall and it gave him a tiny thrill. The metallic tang of fear was the odor permeated the room the most. Standing at calm compliant attention, Soldat observed disinterestedly as the technicians moved around the beds immune to the screams of the damned souls confined before them._

 _Soldat felt nothing for the victims of this macabre experiment as he surveyed the bags of blue fluid being added to IV lines. The bags that he had killed the Starks for. Their screams intensified to a manic animal level._

 _Bucky Barnes cowered in the microscopic cerebral space the Soldat left for him, trying to block it all out. MAKE IT STOP, Barnes would yell but he knew Soldat wasn't listening. He was compliant._

 _I remember. I remember_. Bucky thought violently in the tunnel trying to shake the vision. _Goddammit, I remember._ Squeezing his eyes tightly closed and pressing his hands to his ears, he whimpered at the terror of the memory. The screams echoed then became machine like.

Longing…. Rusted. MAKE IT STOP…

His breath came in fits and starts as his vision faded to red. Soldat began to shrug in his mind.

Scrambling madly in his own mind like a caged animal, he fought against the trigger words. It was as if he was sinking down into scalding molten quicksand with nothing to grasp onto to save his sanity: to block the Winter Soldier.

Rusted… something good… make it stop. Something good…

A thunderclap came from outside the tunnel as Bucky contorted on the floor, not caring anymore about the sewage and storm waters now gently flowing by. The thunder promised more to come.

Rusted. Gasping for breath, his left hand clawed marks into the concrete wall, sending small sparks to the flowing filth beneath his legs.

Brooklyn. Rain storms. Rain. He hated the rain. Why did he hate the rain? Like a lifeline, he grabbed onto the memory for his soul.

" _James Buchanan Barnes! If you don't get your behind in here for dinner, I'll serve up something you'd really not like." Mrs. Barnes hollered from her tenement window to the microscopic courtyard that was perpetually cast in shadow from the building where most of the children played when not in school. It was a cool, if not stagnant, place to escape the smell and heat of the city outside. Spider web laundry lines crisscrossed the atrium space with daily washing strung like flags flapping weakly. The smell of naptha soap sharpened the air. A tiny scraggly tree grew in the center, always reaching for the light that seemed to never come as the tenement was just high enough on all its sides to block out all but the highest of noon light._

" _Sure, Ma. Be right there." Bucky called absentmindedly over his shoulder, really not paying attention to his mother's request. Steve crouched down in front of him, scraped and dusty bony knees up to his shoulders, with their tiny toy cars and the small piles of dirt around the tree's roots that they had constructed into a "town" of sorts. Making car noises, they drove their small Model A's and trucks around the "town" until Bucky decided that the truck in seven-year-old Steve's hand broke the law. "That truck is a bunch of bootleggers! And the coppers got 'em!"_

" _Why do I always gotta be the bad guy, Buck?" Steve complained, a hank of his blond hair falling over his thin face obscuring his blue eyes._

"' _Cause they're my cars." Barnes answered not taking his eyes off the toys and revving up his lips for a police chase. Steve grumbled some more and prepared for his bootlegging truck to take off from Bucky's police. In a stroke of imagination, he decided to make it fly up and away from the coppers in Bucky's hand. Now Rogers made swooping airplane sounds holding the truck in the air. "Hey! Cars can't fly! That's not fair!" Barnes protested._

 _Steve looked impishly at his best friend and smiled, "Well in my mind, they can."_

 _Frowning, Bucky had a smart reply on his tongue when the sky became even darker than usual. Both boys looked up as a sheet of rain, the type that blow in the summertime with little warning, began to drench them in cold wetness. Washing hanging on the laundry lines sagged in saturation as women complained loudly trying to reel them in. Lightening flashed overhead and a deep rumble of thunder shook the cheaply built tenement._

 _With boyish shrieks of indignation, they both dropped their cars at the base of the tree, which in its anemic state gave little protection, and bolted for the hallway leading to the stairs._

 _Looking like drenched cats, Barnes remembered his mom said dinner was ready. Steve had begun to tremble in his dampness, his button down clinging to his skinny body as if it were molded to him. Nearly every rib stuck out from the wet fabric. They both looked out at the now flooding courtyard. "C'mon, punk. Mom's cooking!" Barnes wrapped a brotherly arm around the boy next to him and headed for the stairs._

" _But my mom's cooking too… I think." Steve had lost track of his mother's nursing schedule except to know that he spent more time with the Barnes' than his own mom these days. Something about extra shifts equal extra pay?_

" _Don't worry about it. Your mom and mine are like best buds. Just like us." James smiled down warmly at the smaller boy in his grasp._

" _Yeah, but you never let me be the good guy." Steve looked up at him still a bit put out as they rounded the stair case upward to Bucky's apartment._

" _Whatever, jerk."_

" _Punk."_

* * *

 _The next morning, after church, they boys ran outside to the tree. The muddy ground was still sticky and damp, clinging to their shoes in squishy clods. Winifred Barnes called after the boys, "Now don't you go ruining your Sunday best! Especially you JAMES!"_

" _Yeah, Ma." Bucky said over his shoulder, again, as he sadly took inventory of their town under the poor tree._

 _Mud had infiltrated the cars so that they were half submerged in the quagmire of soil. It looked like a flood of biblical proportions had turned their little hamlet upside down._

" _My bootleggers got away." Steve volunteered, trying to get Bucky's mind off the destruction._

 _Barnes picked up a Model A. The cars were made of thin sheets of pressed steel, low quality steel at that. He picked off the chunks of mud and tried to open a door and spin the wheels. A thin patina of red rust had bloomed overnight on the hinges and edges of the doors where the enameled paint had chipped from vigorous playing. The rust seemed stronger than the metal it had come from. The door was rusted shut._

 _Bucky frantically wiped the rest of the car off with a shirt sleeve. Steve watched in solemn silence knowing James would get a whipping for dirtying his cuff like that. But he also knew how much these tiny cars meant to Barnes. In a house full of girls, small things like cars mattered to a guy._

 _All the doors of the tiny car were frozen shut in a red-brown weld of rust._

 _The paddy wagon was no better. Barnes actually ripped the driver's side door off in his efforts to free it from the chemical bond. Tears pooled in his blue eyes under dark lashes at his loss. Hands hanging limply to his sides, the truck and door fell back to the quagmire with a sick slop sound._

" _My dad." Barnes sniffed, "My dad gave me those."_

" _I know, Buck." Steve offered his best manly sympathy._

 _Bucky raised his eyes as a tear slid down his cheek, staring angrily at the now crystal blue sky, "I_ _ **hate**_ _the rain."_

The rain was sheeting down outside the sewer tunnel at the train station. Bucky focused singularly on that day and the paddy wagon; the texture of the gritty mud stuck under his finger nails, the loads of wash his mother made him scrub to make up for the ruining of his shirt and how it felt to lose those toys in the years just before the Great Depression, before his dad died.

Slowly the red receded his pulse calmed. His brain did not recall the rest of the trigger words. The world slowed to normal speed and he was able to get up out of the rainwater flowing by him, soaking his pants in filth.

Wiping the spittle that had collected on his chin, he looked quickly for his backpack. There is was a few feet away, propped up on a ledge in the tunnel, high and dry. Thunder rumbled outside.

Bucky looked out the opening to the drain pipe, "Thanks rain. I forgive you."


	16. Seventeen

Seventeen

Bucky stayed in the tunnel for what seemed for hours. Half the reason was he didn't trust his own legs after the flashback and the other was he needed time to think about his next move.

Putting his notebooks away, the octopus one for the Hydra memory, Steve's face one for the toy car memory, he contemplated what to do next in the fetid air. A new set of clothes. Could he find a shower? Barnes dug around in his mind for the location of potential safe houses careful not to wake Soldat, like Smaug in _The Hobbit_.

Smaug? Did he ever read that? Or was that Steve who read it? Either way, he understood that reference and it made him smile a tiny fraction. He felt like it was a good book.

Nothing came to mind. Last time he was in Frankfort, it was before the Berlin Wall fell and he was certain that the Hydra safe houses were thoroughly discovered in the unification of Germany. He snorted derisively, resting his head on the wall of the tunnel, hands on his knees. Regardless, he couldn't remember where they all were anyway. Feeling in his pocket the few remaining deutschmarks, Bucky realized that he'd have to exchange them for euros and that would draw attention to himself.

Quietly, he cursed history. How many times was he going to be the 'man out of time.' It was becoming tiresome.

The thunderstorm had long gone and the tunnel resumed its lazy pace draining water away from the city. Rats squeaked out to each other in the dark. Looking outside, he could see early evening was falling upon the city. No time like the present to move, he decided and instead of crawling out the way he entered, he moved farther up the tunnel, searching for a manhole or other service entrance.

After a few bumps and surprised rodents, he found one. Nimbly climbing up the ladder, he paused, listening to where the manhole opened to. Hearing no voices or traffic, he cautiously pushed the lid up from beneath. The iron on asphalt noise was deafening, at least to him, and he crouched down in the hole, holding his breath for several seconds. When no one appeared, he vigilantly poked head up and found himself in the middle of what looked like an industrial park.

Quickly, he hopped out of the hole and replaced the cover moving to the edge of a warehouse. Scanning the corners of the buildings, he looked for security cameras. There were only a few, and the ones he did see did not appear to be operational. Skirting the periphery of the building, he searched for any resources he could use. A partially open window was a blessing.

Once inside, he read the German signs inside the light manufacturing facility. There was a break room for employees. Perhaps a locker room as well? Barnes tried not to become too optimistic. It was never in his nature to be an optimist. Sarcastic as hell, yes. At least sarcasm let you laugh while your hopes and aspirations were crushed. A familiar younger voice entered his head unbidden, just like they always do.

" _Steve. What the hell do you think you are doing?" Bucky stood, an angry frown on his face, hands on his hips. Just like his dad used to do to him when he did something completely idiotic._

 _A defiant, shorter Steve looked up at his best friend and furrowed his own brow, "I'm joining the Army."_

" _Steve. You're seventeen." Barnes left off the obvious part about him being 98 pounds, soaking wet._

" _I don't care." Steve pressed, "I've wanted to do this my whole life."_

" _So you can't wait another year?" Bucky commented, softening his stance. His own father had passed away a few years back from a training accident at Camp Leigh. Bucky was still tender about it, but wasn't going to willingly show Rogers that._

" _C'mon Buck. I'll finally get some respect around here." Steve argued, jamming his hands into his pockets which actually made his suspenders, already tightened as far as they would go, stretch a little._

" _So you think a uniform will get you respect?" Bucky said softly, the memory of his father bursting forth like a firework in his skull despite his efforts to push it down, "All it did was get my dad killed."_

 _Steve looked at Barnes, his defiance and indignation melting away. He looked at the floor guiltily, "Sorry. I didn't …." Steve's father had passed away when he was a baby. Rogers never knew him._

" _Yeah. I know." Barnes said sighing, his breath exiting like a deflating balloon to hide the sob caught in his throat. He looked over Steve's head to blink the tears back. Filling his father's shoes had been hard; harder now that it seemed nothing would stop the Great Depression. Beyond that, he just missed his dad. "Your 'whole life' has been, what, six months?"_

 _Rogers swallowed and fidgeted, "I'm just so tired of… being the little guy. I've just about had it."_

 _Barnes, composed now, looked down at Steve, a hint of a smile touching the corner of his lip, "Well, just put yourself in my shoes. I'm your best friend. That ain't exactly helping me with my social standing."_

" _Can't you be positive about something for once, Buck?" Rogers criticized mildly._

" _Nope. Look where it's gotten you." Bucky replied and gave Steve a shove on the shoulder._

 _Rogers rocked back with the push and then said with deadly seriousness, "It's gotten me my best friend."_

 _The strangest feeling came over Barnes, thinking he should cement this moment in his brain for all eternity. Here was Steven Grant Rogers reminding him off all the good there was in the world. There was a light at the end of the tunnel no matter how dark the day. The light of optimism and goodness was radiating from him making Rogers seem bigger, more blameless, more_ **heroic** _._

 _Bucky swallowed uneasily. The moment was definitely getting to him. Bucky knew this boy… this man… was his brother. Nothing would ever change that._

" _Wow. Speechless. I must be a magician. Or Hell froze over." Steve laughed as the power of the moment dissipated around them._

" _Nah, punk. Don't flatter yourself." Barnes brushed off his temporary discomfiture, replacing it with his trademark confidence and swagger that right then he didn't feel. All he knew was he and Steve were a team. Forever. And that scared him because teammates could be separated._

Bucky blinked in the gloom of the warehouse. The warmth of Steve's expression still burned in the back of his retinas. Barnes allowed him one tiny optimistic thought, that Steve might still want him as a friend. It made the sum of the past few days more bearable.

Then he wondered softly out loud where was Steve right then?

* * *

The quinjet shot across the sky and entered German airspace. The night sky was resplendent in stars as the countryside sparkled with home and shop lights and shining rivers of highways below.

"Ma'am, that is great. I appreciate the gesture, but I will land this plane here." Steve told Dusseldorf's air control.

The woman argued back in accented English, "Captain Rogers, you are an American national. You do not have permission. I will call the German air force."

"Well, we can do this one of two ways: I can land here or I'll just jump, like I did back in 1942." Steve couldn't repress the grin on his face.

"Jump? Whatever do you mean?" The woman replied, flabbergasted. Steve had already placed a parachute on his back (no ocean to fall into here), and gathered all the things he needed. He traveled light.

Flicking a switch, the cargo bay doors opened as he glanced at the controls to see that he set the quinjet on autopilot to return to New York. He didn't want Tony to be too pissed that he hotwired a quinjet. Reflecting quickly, he knew Stark would be pissed regardless because he had F.R.I.D.A.Y.s help. Not sure how he convinced Tony's second favorite A.I. to cooperate. Maybe at 90+ years old he was finally getting some mojo…. With an android.

Satisfied, he looked eagerly at the open sky before him and took a flying leap.

I'm coming to get you, Bucky. It's going to be ok, he thought with the thrill of actually _doing_ something for a change.


	17. Daybreak

Daybreak

 **A/N- Steve's birth year is 1920. Bucky's is 1917. Yes- James is 3 years senior (Marvel MCU wiki, in comics he has a different birthday. *comics*), but let's just** _ **pretend**_ **they are about the same age-ish. Like within a year or 18 months. Also, I scoured the internet for Bucky's sisters names- the only one I found was Rebecca. In the comics, he has 1. In the MCU he has 3).**

Sometimes Fate, out of abundant pity, cut Barnes a check. Tonight was one of them.

Buoyed by the memory of Steve and his earnestness at seventeen, he looked around him after carefully recording the memory in his 'Captain America' notebook. In the now faded light from the long summer sunset, he spied a locker room. Following the wall, he walked cautiously towards it. The door opened easily and Bucky scurried in to avoid any night watchmen who might be on duty. Flicking on a light he took a look.

Inside, there was a refrigerator and a cast off table set with four dinged up chairs, upholstery coming loose through the cuts in the vinyl cushions. A corkboard hung on the wall covered in white hygienic plastic paneling, displaying a work schedule, a labor law poster, a few pictures of coworkers at holiday parties and similar gatherings all looking very happy. An ash tray sat in the middle of the table among the empty soda cups and a few leftovers from lunch that day.

Bucky's stomach rumbled.

He took a quick assessment of the break room. There was an attached locker room with a shower and only one way in or out; the door he entered through and no windows.

Finally deciding he was safe for the moment, he set his back pack down, washed his hands, gently hearing the voice of his mother what a good boy he was doing so without being asked. It made him smile just a little. Was this what it felt to be normal? Smiling?

Then he emptied the fridge into his belly.

He couldn't remember when the last time he ate so well.

No… he could. Sitting back on the cracked vinyl seats facing the door, propping his feet up under the harsh florescent lighting, feeling full and satisfied and actually enjoyed the memory.

" _Steve! Get up!" Bucky pounced on his friend, elbows and knees landing for maximum effect. Steve was so small, most of Bucky missed him on the mattress._

" _Five more." Steve grumbled feeling the cold of the room permeate his bones like painful icicles._

" _STEVE… don't you know what TIME it is?" Bucky persisted like a giant puppy tugging on the covers._

" _It's not even daybreak yet, jerkface." Rogers snarled back and tucked in tighter to his holey wool blanket._

 _Barnes was not deterred and whapped him a few times over the head making feathers fly out of his pillow, "It's CHRISTMAS you idiot. Get UP."_

" _So what. There is no Santa." Rogers groused and buried his head into his half stuffed pillow._

" _Blasphemer!" Barnes cried and fell theatrically, hand over his heart, to the mattress, writhing in false pain, "An arrow! To the heart! A non-believer!" The springs creaked ominously with his fake death throes._

 _Steve peeked from under the covers at Bucky and began to giggle at his preposterous friend._

" _Oh Santa! Give me all his presents! But most of all… give me a smooch from Mary-Beth!" Bucky called to an invisible omniscient presence on the ceiling._

" _Shut your yap." Steve chucked a dirty sock from the floor in Bucky's direction. Bucky giggled like a hyena knowing Mary-Beth was currently Steve's favorite girl, who didn't know he existed. Then the reality hit Rogers; his mom had planned a surprise for Christmas. That's why she sent him over for the night, so she could make it for them. Maybe there_ _was_ _a Santa after all._

" _Boys! Get up if you don't want to miss out! The girls are already grabbing the goodies!" Mr. Barnes knocked on their door._

 _Yanking the door open, two lanky teens tumbled out like a giant ball of gangly arms and legs, each pushing the other for the advantage. Mr. Barnes stood back and watched the spectacle, bemused. The four years into the Depression had only just started to affect their family, despite having three children. His job with the Army was secure, for now. Watching Rogers, he wondered how Sarah was ever going to keep a roof over their heads with only her income and Steve's persistent illnesses. Sipping his coffee, he pushed those heavy thoughts away and joined his family._

 _Bucky's sisters sat around the small tree eating gingerbread cookies that had been hanging on the tree, crumbs all over their mouths. Steve and Bucky were left a few, which Steve ate quickly, like he did every time food was available. Bucky shoved a few of his towards Rogers, who took them with a guilty look in his eyes._

" _Presents!" Rebecca yelled. Her younger sisters nodded their heads vigorously, mouths full of cookie._

" _No, young lady. Church." Her mother reprimanded gently._

" _What about me?" Steve asked always a bit embarrassed that he was here more than in his own home._

" _You can come with us. Your mom has a big surprise and she's still working on it for later." Mrs. Barnes said, putting a kindly hand on his rail thin shoulder. Steve smiled appreciatively up at her._

" _Ok, gang. Get a move on!" Mr. Barnes crowed out like he was moving a division of his own troops._

 _Church was dark and solemn as it always was every Sunday, despite the fact it was Jesus's birthday. Bucky, ever the pragmatist, sat patiently through the droning Latin and irritating incense. Occasionally he'd steal a look at Steve and wonder what that boy was gazing at so hard. Maybe he was praying to God for a new dad. Maybe some more money. Perhaps some help for his mom. Steve would never ask God for something for himself, Barnes concluded._

 _Bucky sighed and turned his gaze to the altar, Father and the huge glass windows that glowed with golden light from the surrounding candles and few electric lights, which hummed like bees with the current. The late winter sun began to peak finally through the huge circular rose window in the back of the building. Streams of rich crimsons, cerulean and verdant green began to fill the congregation space, lighting everyone on technicolor fire. Bucky had never seen anything like it before, but he also wasn't usually at dawn service, either. Rogers and his family were bathed in living pigment. Daybreak was beautiful._

 _Looking down at his lap suddenly, he felt inspired to send up a prayer that his family would never break up, the Depression to go away, and Steve to be his best friend forever._

 _The sun, always moving, had climbed up high enough that the magic moment was gone. Bucky exhaled, not realizing he'd been holding his breath._

* * *

" _I hope Santa brought me a doll!" Rebecca's voice pealed between the brick tenements as they all walked home through the fresh coating of snow. It was getting close to lunch time. Bucky's stomach rumbled loudly. Holiday services were always longer._

" _I want candy!" the youngest said, her voice like bells and tiny puffs of condensation. Mr. Barnes laughed and patted her on her braided pigtails. Mrs. Barnes grabbed hold of her husband's arm and looked like a Norman Rockwell painting._

 _Bucky and Steve stayed silent, walking a good distance behind the Barnes's and their daughters. Finally, about a block to their building, Bucky nudged Steve, "Cat's got your tongue?"_

 _Steve glanced up from his careful steps to avoid deep slush puddles. His second hand boots had holes in the soles and he already couldn't feel his toes despite the newspapers and extra wool socks in them. "Nah. Just thinking."_

" _About what?" Bucky pressed, his breath haloing his cap over his ruddy ears and cheeks._

" _About how lucky I am." Steve said simply, nimbly side stepping a pile of slush._

" _Lucky?" Barnes was slightly shocked. Everyone knew the Rogers's were the worst off in the tenement._

" _Yeah." Steve's smile was a ray of light, "I got my mom. I got a roof over my head and food on my table. And I've got you. What else could a guy want?"_

 _Bucky swallowed, his heart in his throat. "Yeah. Lucky." A few steps passed and he added, "Me too. But a kiss from Mary-Beth would really seal the deal. I could die a happy man."_

" _Man?" You don't even shave, Buck." Steve shot back and shoved him lightly. Bucky's foot caught a patch of ice and he slipped, his rear ending up in a bank of snow._

 _Both boys looked at each other and laughed._

* * *

 _Back in the apartment, the younger girls burst into the main room as soon as Mr. Barnes unlocked the door, scrambling for what Santa might have left them and any other gifts. Bucky and Steve entered behind them, while the Barnes's waited outside. The adults knew what was on the other side of the door._

 _Steve and Bucky's mouths made 'O' shapes as they absently pulled off their wool caps, and the girls squealed in delight. Mrs. Rogers stood to the side of the table, the largest turkey she could afford sitting perfectly roasted, in the center, steam gently curling above it._

 _The aroma alone made Steve dizzy._

" _Merry Christmas, Steve." Sarah Rogers said and held out her arms, "And you too Bucky."_

 _Steve ran to his mom, now only slightly taller than her, and wrapped his bony winter coated arms around her, "Merry Christmas, Momma. I love you."_

 _Sarah cradled his head on her shoulder seeing Steve's father in him and a tired smile came to her face, "I love you too, Stevie."_

" _Merry Christmas, Sarah!" Mr. Barnes and Mrs. Barnes entered and gave friendly familial hugs and kisses._

" _So this was the surprise?" Steve asked, taking off his coat._

" _Yep. Months of saving from my extra shifts and..." Sarah declared and then looked at the Barnes's, "pooling of resources."_

 _The children gazed in wonder at the pile of mashed potatoes, the creamed peas, some boiled corn on the cob and a few roasted yams, in addition to the prize winning turkey. There even was a pumpkin pie. Sarah Rogers must have been cooking and baking all night._

" _Gosh… like something out of "A Christmas Carol." Steve remarked in wonder._

" _And you're Tiny Tim?" Bucky joked, a twinkle in his eye._

" _God is going to bless you after I get done with you." Steve colored a bit, shoving his shirt sleeves up._

" _No. None of this or all your presents are mine." Winifred Barnes warned. "We eat this amazing meal together, in peace."_

" _Well, then I'll second that!" Mr. Barnes replied and began to carve the turkey. Succulent slices fell off the bird with each knife stroke._

 _Steve relaxed and looked at his mom, who was busy helping serve the meal and smiled a genuinely happy smile. He then looked at Barnes, "Merry Christmas Buck."_

" _You too, jerk." Bucky replied feeling grateful._

" _Punk."_

Bucky finished the memory with a smile. That was some meal Mrs. Rogers had cooked. And it was the last really happy moment they had in their lives. Thirteen was a turning point for them. Bucky's dad died at Camp Lehigh just two years later; Steve's mom died of tuberculosis not long after that. Steve was on his own. Then the war happened. And Bucky tried not to think much past that.

Deciding he could use some rest, he turned out the flickering lights to the breakroom, found a corner and went to sleep. The present could be dealt with in the future.

A/N 2... yes... this was a real menu from a 1933 Christmas.


	18. Furnace and Nine

Furnace and Nine

The windowless room gave an illusion that more time had passed than the reality. Bucky woke with a start, his heart thumping wildly, every nerve rubbed raw. His eyes wide in the dark, he tried cat-like to see in the pitch of the room. Where was he? What time was it? Was HYDRA around the corner?

As the boogie men receded from his mind and his heart calmed, he listened to the sounds around him. All was quiet, as in before-morning quiet.

Rising and flicking on the florescent light overhead, the harsh whiteness made him cringe like a creature of the dark. Rubbing his eyes, he cleared them and saw the clock on the wall: three AM. Once he realized he had at least two hours before first shift showed up, he continued to relax in small incremental amounts.

The smell of the sewers from yesterday hit him next roiling his stomach with disgust as his immediate safety was not as pressing. Wrinkling his nose, he knew for his own sanity, he needed a shower. He never smelled this bad, even at home in New York.

" _Ma! I don't wanna take a bath!" four-year-old Bucky dangled from Winifred's grip. His naked baby sister toddled nearby, giggling at them both. What looked like a swimming pool to Bucky was really a 10 gallon dented wash basin filled with tepid water, barely steaming in the middle of the living room. Typically, it held the weekly wash that Winifred did sometimes for neighbors for extra money. Tonight it was going to contain a squirmy boy and his two-year-old sister._

 _Mrs. Barnes had spent the better part of the evening hauling water, bucket by bucket, from the communal spigot down the hall to her stove to the washbasin. "I'm going to need a bath soon from all your squirming, James!" Winifred warned her son as sweat from restraining the wriggly boy taxed her, "We do baths once a week. A bit of water isn't going to kill you."_

" _But Momma!" he protested still as she deftly lifted him up and plunked him down into the lukewarm liquid, a bar of naptha soap in her other hand._

" _No buts. Except washing yours." She lathered the soap quickly and began to scrub the street filth off his wiry body. Rebecca grasped the side of the basin, popping bubbles that escaped. Winifred looked at her two children and smiled._

Bucky liberally borrowed a towel and some not too girly smelling soap. Stripping his filthy clothes off, he found a grey t-shirt and red Henley pullover in a locker. The jeans were too small so he searched until he found a pair of pants that fit and even a few new pairs of socks. The realist in him said to take a few other shirts and pants if he could find them, stuffing them into his pack. Feeling like Goldilocks, he chuckled at himself, _this bear is too big, this bear too small… this one is just right._

Satisfied, he started the water and entered the nearly scalding stream. Bucky recalled he liked hot showers. Really hot. Vapor enveloped him as he watched the water run rivulets down the chrome luster of his left arm. A sudden heaviness came upon him as he observed the plates rotate and shift as if it was not part of him under his control.

An automatic program made the arm do self-maintenance when it sensed Bucky was in the shower. Barnes hadn't taken one in so long, he almost forgot the arm was virtually autonomous. Another 'gift' from HYDRA. His skin suddenly began to crawl in revulsion as Zola's voice declared the procedure begun.

Blooms of flame from an unseen furnace erupted before his eyes, "NOT WITHOUT YOU!" he screamed into the hellfire.

Then as quickly as it came, the arm quieted, apparently cycled through its cleaning.

Bucky braced himself against the slippery tile, water crashing down the top of his head and down the tight muscles of his back in silvery streams. The world seemed upside-down. _Goddammit, when was he just going to be normal again_ , he wondered wearily. Catching his breath, he finished his washing.

Toweling off and dressing, he ran a comb through his long hair after wiping the condensation off the mirror. No time to shave, he frowned, or cut this mop. Taking a long look at himself, he saw a young man saddled with the heavy burden of seventy years of terror. Leaning in, he looked closer at the blue eyes in his skull; was he still in there? Or was it Soldat? Who was Bucky?

His self-examination was cut short when he heard a sound outside. A door.

Wasting no time, he grabbed his jacket and backpack from the breakroom, not caring about his traces left behind for once. Nothing but disgusting clothes, like shed snakeskin.

Killing the lights to the break room, he cracked the door open and peeked out into the workspace of the warehouse. German police in combat gear were stealthily gaining access to the warehouse, moving like a dark liquid around the perimeter of the building, guns up.

Bucky looked at his options as the faintest hints of light peeked in from the skylights above. Machines began to be outlined in the interior gloom. It looked like this was some sort of light manufacturing or packaging facility, large stamping and sealing machines stood idle. Conveyor belts linked them all in a river or metal rollers. Men in helmets, faces hidden swarmed around. He was trapped.

Suddenly a crash from above interrupted Bucky's planning as a man with mechanical wings shattered the skylights above, dropping smoke canisters to obscure lines of sight. Barnes prepared to fight, stepping out into the fog created by the smoke bombs.

"James Barnes! Sargent James Barnes!" The winged man said to him loudly as the smoke swirled under his partially folded wings like magic. Shouts in German echoed off the walls while the police tried to regroup in the chaos.

Bucky froze and said, "My name is Bucky."

"Fine…Bucky! Come with me!" Sam called again, approaching.

Instead, Bucky ran.

"Damn." Sam cussed under his breath knowing his track record for catching enhanced super soldiers.

Barnes vaulted over a roller line into the midst of the machinery trying to obscure himself and find a way out simultaneously. Sam huffed behind, his wing pack making a few tight fits along the way. "Barnes! I'm a friend! Steve sent me!" he gasped between dodges and weaves in the pre-dawn gloom.

Bucky ran on silent.

"WAIT!" Sam yelled as Barnes hopped up on a boxy looking piece of equipment, trying to reach the rafters to go above them all.

The police got their act together as the smoke dissipated pressing forward shooting at the pair. Sam leaped up in the air, partially extending his wings as a shield. The bullets ricocheted off until Sam's trained ears heard one pierce flesh. Bucky gasped and crumpled face down on top of the machine. "DAMN!" Sam cursed and used some jet propulsion to reach him. Folding his wings again as a shield, he knelt above Barnes. Bucky's eyes were open and terrified, blood leaking from his torso, his metal hand clutched over the oozing wound. "Bucky. I'm a friend of Steve's. Come with me to safety. We can talk later." Sam said curtly.

Bucky saw he had no other options as he glanced down at his hand covered in blood. He tried to sit up and the world spun as fire lanced across him.

"C'mon. I hope you're not as heavy as your bestie." Sam squatted to lift the former Winter Soldier. With a heavy groan, Sam glanced up and over his shoulder at the hole he made in the skylights above. "Get ready!" he warned before leaping into the air turning 360 degrees while the jetpack struggled with the weight of two men. The Germans fired as they rose higher but Sam was just agile enough to avoid their shots. They streaked out of the roof as the sun peaked over the horizon.

"There. We'll be safe there." Bucky said into Wilson's shoulder, feeling light headed from bleeding but remembering this particular building. Soldat used it before. Sam noticed a 1950's Modernist looking blue tiled apartment building, probably rebuilt after WWII. Looking around carefully, he landed them in the concealed alleyway. Putting Barnes down, Sam propped him against a trash can. Bucky looked pale and was sweating. Wilson knew he needed some medical help fast. "There. The box. A key." Bucky said between swallows.

Sam looked up at the wall of the apartment to see a small metal box set into the wall resembling a fuse panel just above a door frame. Falcon reached up with a multi-tool and pried it open. A brass key was inside stamped with the number 9. "I know you're not up for talking, but is this a safe house or something?" Wilson asked eyeing the key.

Bucky nodded.

Sam inserted the key to the back door of the building. It yielded. Quickly helping Bucky up, who groaned in pain, he pulled them both across the threshold. The interior stairwell was the same cool blue and dimly lit, vaguely smelling of carpet shampoo. It appeared if anyone else lived there, no one was home; a strange vacuum of sound occupied the building. There was a staircase up and down. Bucky pointed down, which Wilson found strange. Shouldn't nine be up? Not questioning, Sam adjusted Bucky's arm across his wing pack and helped him stagger down the stairs.

Getting into the doorway, Bucky motioned him on to the one bedroom, past the post WWII motif furniture in the unit. "Open the closet." Bucky whispered.

Sam did and another door appeared inside. Testing the key, it worked for that door too. Finally, within what Wilson considered the bowels of the building, he set Bucky down on the one of two cots in the single room space.

Priorities demanded attention so Falcon would have to wait and explore his surroundings later. "I'm an Air Force medic. Let me see your gunshot." Wilson instructed.

Bucky didn't resist as Sam shredded his borrowed clothes, ignoring the strange marriage of flesh to metal of his left arm. Stripping off his wings, Wilson dove into his medical pack, retrieved his supplies and set to work, snapping on a pair of gloves. "I'm not going to lie, this is going to hurt."

"Compared to my life, not really." Bucky gave a feral grin as sweat dripped down his forehead to the pillow. Wilson wondered suddenly what he was in for and what Steve didn't tell him about Bucky.

Taking forceps and some rubbing alcohol, he fished out the bullet out of Barnes's side. Surprisingly, Bucky lay still, only the muscles in his jaw working furiously, eyes open staring at the ceiling. With his medical training, Sam knew the bullet missed all sorts of vital organs, but Barnes had lost a lot of blood. They weren't going anywhere soon. "Here." Wilson handed him the bullet and began to sew him up.

Several stitches, a gauze pad and tape later, Sam was peeling off his gloves, looking spent, staring at the floor. Bucky lay, eyes now closed, his breathing a bit too fast, pulse too quick for Wilson's liking but he was alive. Steve wouldn't kill him for letting his best friend perish.

"Thanks." The wounded voice of Barnes reached his ears.

Sam glanced up from the floor at the wan Bucky. "You're welcome."

"There's vodka in the apartment, if you want some. Upper right cabinet." Barnes's voice was shallow, his eyes dimmed.

"How do you know? Hydra has been out of commission for… two years. Who takes care of this place?" Sam asked thinking that drink sounded really good right then but then grew cautious, "How do I know there are no Hydra goons out there right now to get me?"

Bucky smiled a shadow of his conspiratorial smile and directed his weary gaze to the rough concrete ceiling, "There are still Hydra sympathizers who take care of… the property. I'm sure you've heard the company motto."

"Yeah. Cutting and growing heads. Very poetic." Sam quipped, "So they just leave these 'properties' for operatives like you?"

"I don't do that anymore." Bucky's eyes were hard, a wave of pain washing over his face. Sam held up his hands in apology. "But help yourself. On the house." Bucky continued, his tone bitter, looking back up at the ceiling.

Sam gazed sympathetically at the weakened man and didn't see the brainwashed assassin that tried to kill him two years ago. He saw a young old man, trying to deal with reality he was just another piece of 'property' to someone. It made his stomach churn with loathing.

"So there are no goons out there?" Sam asked earnestly.

Bucky turned his head again, "No. They never come when one of … well. You won't see them. But they know we've been here and will keep things stocked as long as we stay. I've been avoiding these places. A lot."

"And 'they' won't sell us out?" Wilson pressed, still abundantly cautious.

"Just don't go flashing an Avengers patch and you'll be fine." Bucky sighed, his eyes beginning to sag, color paling further. Wilson looked at the gauze. The bleeding slowed but didn't stop yet.

"Ok. I'll make us something to eat. You need your strength back up and I … I need a drink." Falcon commented realizing by his last words, Bucky was unconscious.

Pocketing the key, Wilson stepped out to see what this place had to offer.

" _Wounded! Incoming!" the shout rang through the camp as the roar of jeep motors approached. The Commandos were returning from a particularly difficult mission to root out a well-fortified Hydra stronghold. Intelligence was sparse and the Commandos walked into a hornet's nest._

 _Cap was hurt._

 _Bucky held Steve down to the hood of the jeep by force of will as it hurled along the road at a breakneck speed. It was the only place left to put him after every one else was accounted for. Steve insisted he not take a seat until every person's location was known. Dum Dum was at the wheel with only one good arm, his right one shot through. When Dugan shouted a gear number, Bucky would take his left hand off Steve and work the gear shifter, while Dum Dum used the clutch._

 _Red painted the hood. Steve's blood._

 _As they skidded up to camp, Bucky slammed the gear into park, not caring if the clutch was engaged or not. With super human strength, fueled by adrenaline and whatever Zola had done to him months before, he pulled Rogers off the hood and practically ran him into the white tent with the red cross emblazoned on it._

" _Get a doctor! Get some help! Please!" Bucky was near sobbing as he lay Steve down on the table. Rogers' head lolled to the side, blue eyes hidden beneath their lids. "Hang on Steve. Hang on. You're going to be ok." Barnes leaned close to his ear, whispering. The medical team swung into action assessing and treating Cap's wounds._

 _It took the rest of the day before all the Commandos and their backup were treated. Bucky didn't realize he had his own injuries because he was so worried about Steve. Sitting on the squeaky hospital bed, a nurse dabbed and stitched his cuts. Barnes didn't even notice her attentions as his eyes were drilling holes through the canvas to the operating room, where Steve lay._

 _It wasn't the first time Cap had been hurt, but certainly the worst. In combat, Rogers had thrown the shield to Bucky, who was taking fire, to protect him. Barnes threw it back after the bullets sprayed off, but it was too late. Steve had been hit. It was his fault. Bucky was too slow. He got Steve hurt._

 _Barnes stood quickly, his guilty energy making it impossible for him to sit still pulling the thread and needle of out of the nurses' hands opening the wounds again. "Sargent Barnes, please sit. I wasn't finished." The nurse stated._

" _I gotta see him. It's my fault." Barnes replied softly staring at the canvas wall, his agitation rolling off him like heat waves._

" _As far as I'm concerned, you are seeing no one, Barnes." Col. Philips entered the tent. The nurse smartly stood and saluted. Bucky blinked at him as if he didn't know who Chester was. It dawned on him a few seconds later and he saluted as well. "Now sit down and let the good nurse finish her work."_

 _Bucky sank down to the bed. She began to stich again along his shoulder dabbing the blood away with a gauze square. Barnes was almost afraid to ask but managed a soft, "How is he… sir?"_

" _He'll live, but he's got a fever. Like a goddamned furnace! Must be all that mumbo jumbo super soldier stuff Erskine put in him." Chester fumed trying to think about his next steps if Steve wasn't a part of the plan. He didn't want to think that way, but good men with good thoughts rarely made great commanders._

" _A fever." Bucky said numbly._

" _Yeah. Some infection." Chester bit his tongue on how many bullets they had pulled out of Steve and how much blood he lost and if he were a normal mortal man he'd be dead._

" _Can I see him?" Barnes asked again._

 _Chester gave Bucky a withering appraisal, not wanting Barnes to see how much he really liked these boys and how much he truly cared about them. "When you get yourself patched up, yes. I gotta see what I have left to work with." Philips exited the tent with a huff._

 _Barnes looked at the nurse eagerly, wondering if she was done. Snipping the thread close, she bandaged it and gave him a nod. The tent flap didn't even touch him when he ran through it._

 _Steve was tucked into the bed, the green wool blanket and white cotton sheet neatly folded exactly at his armpits. A glass bottle with blood was suspended above him as it fed fresh crimson to his right arm. He was pale as flour and breathed so slowly, Bucky's own breath caught wondering if he had passed. Only the beads of sweat on his forehead betrayed a great battle was going on inside him._

" _Steve." Bucky's mouth was cotton, "I'm so sorry. I was slow. I 'shuda been faster. I 'shuda protected you better." The tears pooled under his lashes._

 _Barnes reached out and touched Steve's hand. It was hot like molten steel. Bucky almost pulled back in surprise. Maybe it was that crazy vita-mix that Howard and Erskine gave him that was trying to pull Rogers back from the brink._

 _He began to smell food._

 _Food?_

 _In a hospital tent?_

Bucky cracked his eyes and looked around, remembering his real injury which was causing him pain. With a hiss of agony, he looked over and saw Sam eating. "Good morning sleeping beauty."

"Where is the food?" Bucky asked, wincing from the previous days' chase.

"Now that is what I want to hear." Wilson replied with a smile and set about to get Barnes a plate.


	19. Benign

Benign

It was far into the night when Barnes woke. Sam was on his third meal of the day, dinner, when the former assassin regained consciousness. "I feel a small amount of satisfaction that I am stealing food from HYDRA." Sam wisecracked putting his plate down on the small end table between the two cots.

The corners of Bucky's mouth perked up in amusement. Clearly Steve chose his friends based on sarcasm being a desirable trait.

"Before I feed you, let me check you out." Wilson stated but waited for Bucky to acknowledge.

"I'm fine." Barnes replied grouchily as he tried to sit up. Sam waved his hands to signal no, but Bucky tried with a heave, popping stitches. A growl of pain erupted from the assassin as he collapsed back onto the bed.

"Damn you. I just got the bleeding to stop." Sam admonished, "You are as stubborn as Steve. Was there something in the water in early 1900's?"

Barnes noticed black dots swimming in his vision. That was new. "You don't know the half of it." he slurred seeing the edges of his sight haze in and out of focus.

Pressing the heel of his hand into Barnes's side, Wilson held it firm no matter how uncomfortable it made Bucky. Falcon tried to ignore the rippling plates of the mechanical arm and the horrible scarring that stretched onto Bucky's chest as a reminder of how nasty HYDRA was. "Now, are you going to listen to me when I tell you something?"

Bucky's gaze wasn't completely coherent but he nodded yes.

"Good. Then listen up." Sam began, "You need to stay still and let this bleeding stop. Steve told me you got some of the same 'fix a flat' juice in you too, so if you play nice, this healing thing shouldn't take long. But, if you keep being a dick about it, you're going to die."

"Gotcha." Barnes garbled in reply.

"And I don't like being holed up here in enemy territory, alone, without reinforcements. You know I can't even get a cell phone signal down here?" Wilson continued, his temper simmering while trying to save Barnes's life.

Bucky swallowed hard as he tried to form a thought, "Designed that way."

"I don't care what kind of Cold War shit was planned into this hideyhole, I don't like it. And I'm not sure I…" Sam stopped himself.

"Sure what?" Bucky asked feebly, his eyes narrowing.

Wilson clenched his jaw and looked away unsure and then back.

"You don't like me." Barnes stated shakily, "Smart man."

"Not sure 'like' is the right word." Falcon affirmed, glancing down at the wound that was still leaking blood.

"Maybe 'trust'?" Buck offered, his coloring blanching more, his eyes having a hard time focusing.

"Yeah. That one."

Barnes never heard the reply because once again, he was passed out cold.

Sam sighed and knew he'd be up half the night trying to keep the bleeding under control like some benign guardian angel.

* * *

The following morning, Bucky's tongue felt like cotton in his mouth and his throat was closing. With a gasp for air, he tried to cough but he was too weak to move. Sleeping Sam shot up from the opposite cot he had pulled within arm's reach to Barnes to monitor the bleeding. Grabbing a cup of water, he held it to Bucky's lips.

Drinking gratefully, Bucky's throat opened again and he breathed several deep breaths.

"I'd say you're down at _least_ three pints of blood. That's good enough to send an average man into shock, if not death. Drink as much water as you need." Sam said half awake, wiping the sleep from his eyes, still holding the cup. Barnes took him up on it and then returned his head to the pillow. "I think I can whip up something you can sip if you're hungry."

"That'd be nice." Bucky whispered, feeling like a wrung out dish towel.

"Ok. Lemme see what HYDRA left us to work with." Sam stood in his rumpled clothes and shuffled out the door to the main apartment.

Bucky watched him leave and felt guilt press heavily upon his heart. Steve sent a good man to find him, treat his wounds and help him escape. Did he deserve it? After what he's done, did he deserve any mercy at all from anyone?

Surprisingly, Sam returned quickly, looking over his shoulder constantly. Closing and locking the door, he said, "Man this place gives me the creeps. The fridge is fully stocked even after I've taken food. The dishes clean themselves but I don't hear anyone. You need to get well fast, because this place is bugging me out. You sure they can't or won't get in?"

Bucky found the strength for a whisper, "They won't bother us. My reputation precedes me."

Sam chilled at the idea that the HYDRA sympathizers knew the Winter Soldier was in residence, "How do these people hide in plain sight? Don't they know you 'escaped'?"

"They know. But they don't know the chain of command and so won't bother us." Bucky spoke weakly eyeing what was in Sam's hand.

"Under the radar. I get it." Falcon glanced down into the cup, "This isn't gourmet or anything, but I made you a smoothie. Banana strawberry. Take your time sipping and for godssake do NOT sit up." Sam propped Bucky up with an extra pillow and held the cup again for him, not wanting Barnes to pop stitches.

Bucky sipped the fruity meal in small gulps.

"Let me fill you in." Wilson began sizing up the assassin, "I don't trust you. Yet. Like you… maybe. Last time we met was not your best moment."

Barnes's eyes widened in concern and he stopped drinking and said feebly, "Sorry. I wasn't myself." Blocking out the images of pulling Falcon out of the sky with a cable and throwing him off the deck of a helicarrier, ripping out a steering wheel, and generally trying to kill him: he remembered all of it.

"I get that. It's just… hard to see you here and remember then." Falcon waved away Barnes's remorse, "But Steve says you're worth it and I do what Steve says because he's worth it."

"He's too good for me." Bucky replied sadly, suddenly not hungry. If he had the strength, he felt like he'd cry.

"I don't think so. From what I heard, you are as he put it 'a real stand up kinda guy'." Wilson impersonated his best Steve Rogers Brooklyn accent.

"I used to be."

"I bet you still are."

"I'm not sure what I am, anymore." Barnes looked away and closed his eyes. Soon, by his breathing, it was clear he was asleep.

Sam let that hang in the air, wondering how to proceed with this very damaged man. Nothing in the VA therapy groups could top this.

* * *

Sitting silent for hours, cleaning his equipment again and again, thinking if he knew this would happen, Sam would have brought a book. Leaving the closet room only when he needed something, like the bathroom or a meal, it made his skin crawl to think there were people gaining access to this same space who were the enemy. There was only one way out. He tried not to think about it too hard. But he wondered why no one knocked to inquire why there was a blood trail on the floor. Maybe the fewer questions they asked, the better it was for them. Thinking about asking questions, he didn't feel secure enough either with a medically frail Bucky to contact Steve and the team.

 _After the Triskelion fall, Steve showed Sam bits and pieces of Bucky's file as they began to search for him. Wilson thought he'd seen it all; water boarding, drug torture, old school physical pain and punishment, but nothing prepared him for what HYDRA did to Bucky._

" _They broke him to bits." Sam whispered, eyes huge, reading the last part of the file and handing it back to Steve._

 _Steve's eyes pooled dark blue, sad creases of hurt pulling on his face like taut wires, "Yeah."_

" _You really think he's in there?" Sam tried to be logical, part of him not wanting to believe that people could treat other humans with such cruelty._

" _I saw it in his eyes. He saw me…_ knew _me. Besides Peggy, he's all I got now. I owe it to him, Sam. He would do the same for me." Steve's voice sounded like Sam imagined it would before Project Rebirth._

" _Well, if you say so, I'm in." Wilson stated._

 _Steve smiled the sad smile that soldiers know how to give._

Wilson heard Bucky stir on the cot and blinked from his reverie. Handing him some more water, Bucky drank, buoyed by pillows behind him. "Thanks." Barnes's voice was a bit stronger, his coloring better.

"Let me take a look." Sam said, feeling a bit more affable towards the former assassin. Bucky lay still while Sam took his pulse and checked the bleeding. Not stellar but a much better improvement than before. "I'll be blunt- whatever they gave you in WWII is stitching you up pretty darn quick."

"Yeah. What a gift." Bucky commented, his tone a bit stronger.

"Hungry?" Sam asked but then rolled his eyes, "Never mind."

He came back with another smoothie and a sandwich still looking over his shoulder. "I feel like there are cameras in there or something. You gotta explain how this works."

Sam helped Bucky prop himself up better to actually feed himself with some dignity, instead of Wilson being a nursemaid. Barnes sat there uncertain where to begin or how much to say to Sam. He'd spent the better part of two years trying to unlearn all he knew and avoid these safe houses and the caretakers. And he'd never talked this much to anyone in a long, long time. Swallowing a bite of sandwich, he began, "These people who work for… Hydra…" The word tasted like filth in his mouth, "Are street level people. It's sick."

"Like Manson or Jones." Sam interjected.

"Who?" Bucky asked, slowly chewing.

Sam remembered that Barnes wasn't up on his later twentieth century history, "Cults."

"Yes." Bucky sipped the smoothie the looked at the glass, slightly surprised, "This is good."

"Who'd ever think the Winter Soldier would drink a smoothie?" Sam offered, good-naturedly, not sure how to converse with this complex man.

"My name is Bucky." Barnes stated flatly. Wilson noted the tone and backed off.

Bucky became quiet, retracting inwardly, chewing and assessing Falcon. A small part of him suddenly realized he was being rude so he asked, "How'd you and Steve meet?" hoping that Sam would do all the talking and he'd hear how Steve was doing.

Sam leaned back and told on himself being lapped by a 95-year-old, Bucky was almost chuckling, a glint of humor in his eye. Wilson filled him in on the rest of the last two years; Ultron and now the Accords. "And you are the hardest damned guy to find."

"I try." Bucky replied licking his fingers.

"So, did you do it?" Wilson asked, putting aside the therapist side, still not sure of Barnes's agenda.

"Blow up the U.N.?" Barnes' eyes narrowed dangerously, "I don't do that anymore."

"Just checking." Wilson stated searching for any signs of the Winter Soldier, "You've been framed."

Barnes stayed silent holding his gaze from his bed.

"Steve would like to help you." Falcon forced himself to be gentle.

Bucky squirmed, "I'm…. I'm not sure about that."

"Why not?"

"I tried to kill him. I'm not worth… much to anyone." Barnes exhaled, "I just want to try to live my life and find my book."

"Like the ones in the backpack?"

Barnes gave him a hard stare, flinty sparks in his eyes, voice low, "You didn't read them, did you?"

Falcon sat up straight seeing the murderous expression quite clearly, "No. Why would I?"

"Dunno."

"Well, I don't go messing with another man's stuff." Wilson leaned forward to press the point, "But now I'm curious."

"They are my memories." he said flatly, "I have flashbacks."

"Are they all bad?" Wilson's voice calmed into therapist mode.

"No. Some are nice actually. When Steve and I were kids growing up, or in the army together before…." He trailed off and looked across the room.

"The train?"

"Yeah."

"I read that report."

"You did? Why?"

"Steve wanted me to. He blamed himself for letting you fall, you know."

Bucky's eyes widened, "But it wasn't! It was an accident. He had nothing to do with … this." Bucky weakly lifted his left arm.

"Yeah. He said Peggy told him the same thing."

"Peggy Carter?" Bucky furrowed his brow trying to grasp her face in his mind. A bar in England, hazy smoke from cigarettes, bad whiskey, "Steve's Peg?"

"The one in the same."

Like a slap to the face, Bucky recalled how they made puppy-dog eyes at each other in that dive of a bar and how Bucky knew this was going to end badly for him. In a sudden burst, Bucky asked Wilson as if he were some fortune teller or time traveler from the future, "Tell me… did they get hitched? Gosh… they were two moonies head over heels for each other."

Sam smiled, happy to see the humanity in Barnes, but then sobered, "No. They never got a chance."

Barnes looked stricken, "Whaddaya mean?"

Sam sighed and began to tell James Buchannan Barnes the story of how Captain America saved the world by putting the _Valkyrie_ into the North Atlantic, saving the world.

"The museum." Bucky trailed off absently, looking deflated as all the parts fit back together in his head. It had been a while since he was at the exhibit.

"Museum?"

"Smithsonian."

"Well, do you want to hear some more bad news?" Sam asked carefully.

Bucky looked conflicted but nodded yes.

"Peggy just passed. She was ninety-five." Sam informed.

"Oh no. No." Bucky tried to sit up in surprise but he winced as the stitches pulled.

"Hey! Take it easy." Sam warned.

"He's all alone." Bucky whispered thinking of that promise he made at the graves of Sarah and James, back in New York. That familiar tug in his heart pulled on his mind, "I need to take care of him."

"I think you need to take care of each other."

Bucky smirked to himself and Sam could only guess at what he was thinking about Steve and in what time period.

Unexpectedly, there was a knock on the door.

Both men froze.

" _Soldat_?" a man's voice came through the thick steel doorway in Russian.

Bucky stiffened and motioned Sam to move away from the doorway to the far side of the small room. Wilson took the position behind the hinges, which opened inward. If the loyalists burst in, Barnes would be completely unprotected.

" _Yes_." Bucky replied in Russian as loudly as he could manage.

" _Mission report_." The voice responded. Sam saw Barnes flinch visibly. He hoped that Bucky would keep a cool head but had his hands on a pistol, safety off. His wing pack rested on his cot.

Bucky stayed quiet.

A sharper knock, " _Soldat. Mission report. Are you alright_? _There is blood out here. It's been a few days since you've left the compound_. " The voice sounded nervous.

Thinking furiously, Barnes noted that no one talked to Soldat that much or with such care. But that was no reassurance the voice was a Hydra ally. " _Mission report: local authorities attacked me. I am well. Resting. "_

" _We need to see you, Soldat. Open the door." _ The voice replied. Bucky gestured that they wanted to enter.

Sam tightened his grip on the pistol and in a whisper, "I'll cover you and we'll have to run for it."

Bucky looked uncertain as he pushed himself more upright, grimacing. Wilson saw the freshest gauze pad begin to darken crimson. He was bleeding again. Sam threw on his wing pack as quietly as possible.

"One moment. _Let me put on a shirt."_ Barnes stalled as he pulled one over him and grabbed his backpack. Soldat would never care if he was naked or not. That would arouse suspicions.

Sam hefted Barnes up from the cot just as the door blew open in a hail of bullets. Concrete shards and dust filled the space where they had just been standing.

Leaning Bucky on the wall, Sam kicked the broken door back at the assailants and then folded his wings into a shield, pushing around the corner. He fired blindly at first and then picked the targets. Hydra sympathizers by the look of it, almost like a local militia. Thank goodness, not Wakandan, Sam thought quickly.

The group was small, but after the first wave, Wilson went back in and grabbed Barnes, helping him walk out of the apartment and up the stairs into daylight. A cargo van sat on the street with the keys still in it, probably the car the sympathizers used to get there. "Guess they thought open season on super soldiers, hmm?" Falcon huffed and puffed as he helped Bucky into the back of the van.

"Not their lucky day." Barnes replied, grimacing in pain.

"Stay quiet. That bleeding started again. I swear…" Wilson stated exasperatedly. "I'm calling Steve." He started the van and pulled out into to traffic.

Bucky focused on breathing, his vision fading in and out again. The last thing he heard was Sam's voice saying, "Steve. I got him. I got Bucky."


	20. Homecoming

Homecoming

Sam drove casually but with purpose down the German highway, trying to get the former assassin to Steve as quickly as possible. They settled on a more rural spot just outside Cologne where they could find some cover without all the city cameras. Every few miles, he glanced back at the wounded Barnes, still bleeding, but not as bad as the days before. He laid on the floor in the back of the van seemingly asleep, head pillowed on his backpack.

Wilson found an English radio station, crackling with static, where he listened to the news.

" _Today, in New York, Tony Stark announced a joint effort with the United States military and several other allies in the hunt for the Winter Soldier for his alleged bombing of the United Nations building. Death tolls have not risen since the rubble has been cleared."_

Sam swallowed uneasily and continued to listen.

"In related news, Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, refused to sign the Sokovia Accords and walked out of talks. He would not give a statement about his opinion regarding the Accords. Mr. Stark, a close friend, said they were having differences of opinion about the guidelines. Mr. Rogers whereabouts are unknown at this time as is his team. While not considered dangerous, anyone with knowledge of their location is asked to call local authorities."

Bucky snorted derisively from the back of the truck.

"How are you feeling?" Falcon asked knowing he was awake.

"I'm ok." Barnes replied, his voice stronger despite re-injuring himself.

"Is that a version of 1940's swagger? Because if it is, I can spot a liar a mile away." Wilson jested.

Bucky chuckled softly, "We invented swagger."

"Oh, is that how it is? Wait till I tell Cap." Sam smiled looking out the windshield, glad to hear some spark in the damaged vet.

"Go ahead. He knows the truth." Bucky commented and then fell silent for the rest of the trip.

Their path took them from the highway to increasingly smaller and smaller municipal streets. Falcon followed the enhanced GPS religiously trying not to stand out in a crowd. By late afternoon, they were at the intersection of two rural roads bordering a bucolic farm on one side and a tree covered ridge on the other. It was quiet midsummer. Birds and crickets were the only noticeable sounds, the air heady with humidity and the smell of soil and growing things. It reminded Wilson of some of the summers of his childhood.

They were on time. Falcon glanced at his watch; Rogers was not.

Falcon exited the driver's seat and paced slightly outside the van as the occasional car or truck would rumble by. A dog barked in the distance making him jump. "Will you quit walking a trench out there?" Bucky's voice came through the wall of the van.

"Says the man with a price on his head." Sam shot back, nervous, pulling one of the hatch doors open in the back.

Bucky squinted at the light thrown on his face, "Steve is never on time."

"Really." Wilson commented sarcastically, glancing up and down the two lane road.

"Yep." Bucky responded, "He was even late to his own funeral."

Sam had to laugh out loud at that one because of the dark humor. Barnes smiled, his coloring looking better.

"Let me tell you a story. I'll never forget this one no matter what Hydra did to me." Bucky offered and with a grunt and gentle heave, he propped himself up against the wall of the van, his hair falling in pieces over his eyes. Sam sat down on the bumper of the truck letting the open door shield him from view.

* * *

 _The way home from school was short. Bucky and Steve knew the route with their eyes closed. St. John the Apostle was exactly five blocks away. Three straight and then a right and another right then a left. For two young boys, it should have been a quick walk of perhaps twenty minutes._

 _They'd pass the market on their way where the butcher hung their cuts in the windows, fruit and vegetable sellers would hawk the day's produce wanting it gone before the next morning. The bakers exhausted heady aromas from their ovens making everyone's mouth water._

 _It should have been a quick walk home to the tenement and then a quick clean up, perhaps some homework and then dinner._

 _Bucky walked casually, his wool herringbone cap jauntily tilted to the left while he tried to whistle through the space between his top teeth. It was less than successful._

" _Buck, stop it. You're spitting everywhere." Steve complained, the top of his head barely even with Barnes's shoulder._

" _A bit of spit won't hurt you, punk. Might wash some of that dust off you. Anyways, I want to learn how to whistle like the workmen do up on the iron works! I can catch a pretty gal's eye that way." Bucky strutted his little eight-year-old self down the side walk and blew unsuccessfully again._

 _Steve laughed at him as Barnes had to wipe a giant glob of spittle from his chin with the back of his hand._

 _A nearby group of girls from their school, dressed in their cute plaid skirts and white blouses, hair neatly in braided pig tails or buns, giggled and pointed. Bucky scowled at them, wiping his hand on his pants, "Whatcha staring at? Never seen a man whistle before?"_

" _Guess not. Never_ _heard_ _you_ _either, little bitty." The eldest girl, at least eleven, bit back and pushed the cluster of giggling girls up the sidewalk, some still looking over their shoulders and sticking out their tongues, mocking Bucky's attempt at whistling._

 _Barnes turned back to his friend, a fuming expression on his face. He jammed his hands angrily into his pockets._

" _I'd whip them for you, Buck, but Momma said never to hit a girl. No matter how mean they are." Steve said, his blue eyes fiercely glinting in the late afternoon light._

" _Yeah yeah. Forget them." Bucky huffed, "FORGET YOU!" He yelled at the now vanished group of girls. "C'mon Steve." He turned his back to Rogers to resume his walk home, not trying to whistle anymore._

 _Suddenly a clear note pierced the air as if a flute blew it. A simple melody followed, sweet and rich. Barnes stopped and pivoted to see who made this beautiful sound._

 _Steve stood there, his lips puckered into the perfect shape to whistle._

 _Barnes's mouth hung open as Steve finished the tune. "Like it?"_

" _Who… how!?" Bucky was flabbergasted._

" _Dunno. Just tried it one day." Steve smiled, rocking back and forth on his heels, happy to do something that Bucky wasn't adept at that had nothing to do with size._

" _Well I'll be." Bucky said reaching out to ruffle Steve's hair. As he did, he stopped mid reach, his eyes focused just past Rogers head._

 _Thinking the worst, like Joe Phillps, one of several bullies, Steve spun around to see what grabbed Buck's attention._

 _Sitting, four sidewalk squares away, was a tiny mongrel puppy, one ear cocked up, one flopped down. Huge paws told the story that he'd be a big dog someday, but for now, it was just listening to a whistle adorably._

" _Hey buddy!" Steve said, bending down on his knees and holding out a hand. The puppy cocked its head the other way._

" _Steve. You can't touch him. You'll have an asthma attack." Barnes warned, his tone tight. He'd seen Steve have one just a few weeks ago. It scared him silly to see Rogers turn blue and gasp like a fish out of water._

" _C'mon. He's just a puppy. Here boy!" Steve said cheerfully and then gave a little whistle._

 _The puppy looked at him quizzically, cautiously approaching, one ear up and one ear down, tail held in a position of uncertainty._

" _Rogers, stop. We need to get home. Your momma and mine won't like this." Bucky said quickly, forgetting about his whistling incident._

" _It's ok." Rogers said tenderly as it came closer and closer._

" _Aww, c'mon!" Bucky replied, exasperated, eyes rolling and throwing his hands up in the air._

 _The sudden motion scared the pup and it tucked his back end and ran._

" _Hey! What was that for?" Steve turned irritably to his friend._

" _Oh well, it's gone. Let's go." Bucky replied nonchalantly, happy the problem was solved._

" _No. You're going to help me find him." Steve said quickly looking between where the puppy ran off and his best friend._

" _No. I don't want a whipping tonight." Bucky said flatly, crossing his arms and looking down his nose._

 _Steve stepped up to Bucky and tried to look him in the eye, "You help me find this puppy or I'll_ _never_ _teach you how to whistle." He blew a soft wolf whistle into Bucky's face, like Bucky said he'd like to do just like the iron workers._

 _Barnes narrowed his eyes at the challenge. He really wanted to learn to whistle._

" _Fine." Bucky said between clenched teeth._

" _Great. Let's go." Steve's' tone brightened as if that little confrontation never happened. He began to whistle in earnest calling for the puppy._

 _Bucky trailed glumly after Rogers, unenthusiastically calling, "Here doggie."_

 _The puppy's face reappeared like a rabbit in a burrow, except the burrow was a pile of watermelons stacked under a fruit vendor's cart across the street in the market area._

" _There you are!" Steve cajoled the dog, stepping off the curb._

" _Steve! Look out!" Bucky sprang into action to knock Rogers out of the way as a delivery truck roared by on the cobble stones. A shrill honk and a few choice words flung out the window at the boys, who skidded to a halt on the right side of the road, feet from the fruit seller. The puppy's tongue lolled out of its mouth in a happy grin like this was a great game._

 _Bucky looked at Steve wrapped in his arms, who looked back at him. "Anything hurt?"_

 _Steve swallowed the sudden realization that he had almost been flattened by a truck and nodded no, quickly looking for the dog. He saw a furry tail jetting off from the commotion._

 _Rogers leaped up and gave chase._

" _Not even a thanks?" Barnes hollered after him and pursued both of them, skinned knees prickling crimson._

 _Steve might have been small, but he was fast for short distances, before his asthma kicked in._

 _The puppy went under an apple cart; Steve went over it. Then the tiny canine zipped through a laundry making the ladies scream in surprise, while Rogers made them toss laundry into the air as he bolted past. Bucky brought up the rear half apologizing and partially chastising Steve for being such a fool._

 _Steve called, "Here boy! Come here!" and whistled. The puppy barked happily, loping a long, as it chose a new path past the butcher. Ducking into the loading bay for the butcher, the pup went between men's legs, snapping at scraps on the floor and dangling from trimming tables. Steve skidded on wet pavement and slammed into the doorway, tripping up and falling into a shallow puddle of beef blood._

 _Picking himself up from the floor he stared, dazed, at his dripping crimson hands. Barnes finally gained on him and braked hard, mouth wide open, "STEVE!" Bucky thought he was dying._

 _Rogers took a moment to realize none of the blood was his, but it was the most blood he'd ever seen. Suppressing a dry heave, a fit of wheezing came on with his shock. "I'm. Ok. Not. My. Blood. Dog?"_

 _Barnes looked Steve over and grabbed his shoulders in a gentle shake also getting a coat of blood on his hands. "STOP. Stop now. It's getting late. We're a mess."_

" _Hey! Which one of you kids owns this mutt?" A burly man stood with a blood soaked apron, a white cap on his head and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. The puppy was in his meaty fist by the scruff, an enormous knife in his other._

" _Sir! Ha… funny. We don-" Bucky began and Steve stepped in front of him, chest puffed out, red spattering his face like a boy from_ _Lord of the Flies_ _._

" _He's mine." Steve declared in a rasp._

 _The butcher approached, the knife blade glinting evilly in his hand. A whimper escaped the dog. "_ _Your_ _dog?" the butcher said bending down into Rogers' face, exhaling smoke at him in a thick cloud._

" _Yes sir." Steve coughed as his eyes watered. The other butchers gave a low, masculine chuckle._

 _The man stood back up, and looked around at his men, "You know what we do with filthy curs who run into our shop making our meat unsellable?"_

" _Well, if you smoke like that in here, I don't' think I'll be buying either." Bucky interjected coolly._

" _Maybe, boy, I'm not talking about the_ _bitch_ _." The butcher snarled at Barnes, shaking the puppy. It yipped. Barnes' jaw muscles rippled and his hands clenched into fists._

" _Leave him alone! He's mine." Steve stepped up to the brawny man towering over him, unafraid of the knife._

" _And what are you going to do about it, you whelp?" The man leered waving the blade at Steve, stippling him with more blood._

 _Steve glanced at Bucky and then back at the man. "I'm going to do_ _this_ _." In a flash, Rogers and Barnes kicked the butcher in both shins as hard as they could. The puppy made a free fall as the man howled in pain, cursing them both._

 _As if Steve was an outfielder for the Brooklyn Dodgers, he deftly scooped the puppy up midair like baseball and quickly turned out of the shop and down the street. Barnes was on his heels._

 _They ran five blocks out of their way to make sure the butchers were not in pursuit. Finally, out of breath, the puppy squirmed enough in Steve's hands that it got free. The boys slid down a brick wall, heaving breaths, knowing it was far past time they should be home. Steve reached over and rubbed the dog between the ears and it repaid him by leaping upon his lap and licking the blood spatter off his face. "Ok. Ok. I know. You're welcome." Rogers giggled between asthmatic gasps._

 _Bucky frowned at him, "Rogers, you're talking to a dog."_

 _In response, the puppy bounded over to him and began to lick Bucky's face. Soon he was giggling too._

" _Alright. What are we doing next?" Steve recovered his composure enough to speak._

" _Dunno. We can't bring it home. Our mommas are going to kill us." Bucky laid out the facts bluntly, "Let's cut our losses and run away."_

" _Quit being dramatic." Rogers stated standing up and making a halfhearted attempt at dusting himself off. He smelled like a slaughterhouse and didn't look much better._

 _The puppy whined a bit and walked away, looking over his shoulder._

 _Steve watched him. "I think he wants us to follow him."_

" _Steve, first it's a girl." Barnes remarked crossly, disbelieving that he was actually still helping Rogers, "This darn dog has gotten us in too much trouble already. She's not Pal or Tige from the moving pictures, you know."_

 _Rogers looked at him funny, "How do you know?"_

" _Know what?"_

" _The girl… thing." Steve frowned and waved vaguely._

" _Well, just… look." Bucky pointed at the puppy. Steve blushed hard up to his hairline._

" _Ok." Rogers fidgeted, "But I still think she wants us to follow._

" _Fine. Let's just get this over with. I'm a dead man when I get home anyway." Barnes complained and followed the dog as she led them up the block to an alleyway._

 _The puppy ducked into the darkened alley, as it was early evening and the taller buildings cut deep shadows. Steve didn't recognize this particular alley; guess he hadn't met any bullies at this one yet. He paused at the building corner and Barnes bumped into him. "Hey! Watch it."_

" _Where'd she go?" Barnes asked, peeking over Steve._

 _A low growl and a pair of yellow eyes appeared. Both boys froze with fear. Then the puppy bounded out, yapping and licking their fingers and then back into the shadows. The growling continued so the puppy repeated the performance. Then other little voices joined and soon Bucky and Steve were knee deep in puppies. "It's a litter! Look at all them!" Steve sneezed._

 _Finally, a large shepherd mix approached from the shadows, a cautious look in her eyes, scenting the air for trouble._

 _Steve looked at her and said softly, "That must be their mom." Bucky hummed in agreement._

 _The puppy looked back and forth between Steve and her mom, tongue lolling._

" _You know, if I didn't know better, I think she's proud she brought us to her family." Steve commented rubbing the puppy on her head. She licked his fingers, tail wagging._

" _Yeah. Cute. A dog, thinking. Steve, you think the strangest things sometimes. Let's get home. We gotta explain this one." Barnes pulled on Steve's shoulder._

 _Rogers knew he was right. Bending down on a knee, he let the puppy kiss him on the chin as he ruffled her fur. Another sneeze erupted. "Sorry, girl. I gotta go home too. Take care. No more butcher shops ok?" She panted at him, eyes half closed._

 _Rising, the two friends walked away from the dog family, only a few yips to send them on their way._

* * *

Falcon smiled a wide, relaxed smile, "That must have been something."

"Yes. We couldn't sit down for a week. And we had to eat dinner late all that week too just for our mommas to prove their point. Don't ever be late for dinner again." Bucky smiled too, reminiscing. "It didn't work. Steve's still late."

As Barnes spoke those words, the crunch of tires on gravel and the funny sputtering rumble of a VW bug approached with it. Both men sat still, Wilson's hands reaching for a gun on his hip. Glancing out the windshield of the truck, they saw Steve approaching. Sam took his hand away from the gun.

"You ready for this?" Wilson asked gently.

"As I'll ever be." Barnes replied in a whisper, looking terrified.

"Sam? Bucky?" Steve called hopefully, the sun glare preventing him from seeing into the vehicle. Bucky could see Rogers though and a huge lump of guilt punched him in the stomach unexpectedly. Doubling over, he felt as if someone ripped his guts out.

" _You're my mission!" roared in his ears as the metal fist pounded again and again and again._

" _Then finish it, because I'm with you till the end of the line." slurred Steve._

"Bucky, you ok?" Sam asked suddenly, seeing the vet crumple.

"I… I… he. I…" Barnes fought for breath. His body felt like it was on fire from the pits of Hell.

Rogers came around the corner. Wilson moved out of the way.

Steve saw Bucky curled up in a ball on the floor of the truck, hair obstructing his face. The air was sucked from his lungs. His knees almost folded beneath him.

"Buck. Do you know me?" was all Steve could get out of his mouth as he gripped the van door for support.

Breathing heavily, Barnes looked up through his hair, "Your mom's name is Sarah. You used to wear newspapers… in your shoes." A nervous laugh escaped him.

Steve exhaled sharply, like a laugh he was holding in, preparing for the worst. "C'mere, you punk."

Bucky unfolded himself carefully, mindful of the gunshot, and moved to the bumper of the truck. Standing on shaky legs, looking like last week's laundry and trash, Barnes couldn't meet Steve's eyes. Steve looked at him for a long while, throat working furiously to catch the tears he wouldn't let fall. Carefully, Rogers wrapped his arms around his best friend. "Welcome home, Bucky. You're going home."

 **A/N- this chapter may be a bit selfish of me. I just** _adored_ **the way Steve and Bucky talked in the quinjet in the last 30 min of CA:CW. I would write whole screen plays just to hear those two talk and be friends again. Needless to say, regardless of the MCU and their machinations, I was VERY annoyed with the conclusion of the movie. Therefore, this chapter may come off as a bit self-centered as I how I wanted these two best buds to reunite after too many years apart. All the Pinterest fan arts of them hugging just get me… every…time.**

 **I'm starting to think I just need to write flashback fics. (sigh). And I know** **Lord of the Flies** **was written in 1954. I wanted to use the imagery. For your youn'uns… read it. It's GOOD. Also- I'm a lifelong dog lover. Grew up with Boxers. Best dogs in the world.**

 **By the way, I can't whistle either.**


	21. One and Freightcar

One and Freight Car

Steve held Bucky like the long lost brother he was, firmly but gently, his head just above and turned slightly away over Barnes' shoulder. Sam saw the glint of tears begin to leak down Rogers's face from under closed eyelids.

Slowly, mechanically, Barnes' arms came up and embraced Steve more fiercely, as if at any moment seventy years of separation would happen again. Bucky buried his face, ashamed, into Steve's biker jacket as the years of misery began to pour out of him like an upended pitcher.

Wilson watched the reunion, deeply touched at the friendship that refused to die despite all odds. His eyes became misty as he thought of Riley; glancing up to the sky, he observed the pristine white clouds passing by on this delightful summer's day. Falcons' throat grew tight as he wiped a few tears of his own from his eyes, imagining up there somewhere was a F.A.L.C.O.N. unit soaring above him.

"What about your friends?" Bucky muttered into Steve's shoulder after the initial crying spasms faded but still hitching his voice.

Steve opened his red rimmed eyes, looking over the corn field they stood next to, surprised at Bucky's first question. Why was he worried about them? He didn't even know them. Suddenly, he remembered- Bucky always worried about everyone else. Never himself. "It doesn't matter. I'll deal with it." He replied, this voice also thick with tears.

Bucky pushed away from the embrace, wiping his eyes on the back of his hands, "Steve." He hesitated, eyes searching Rogers' uncertainly like a lost child, gesturing weakly, "I don't think I'm worth all this."

Steve's eyes grew huge in hurt. He didn't know what to say. He expected Bucky to be over joyed seeing him again. Rogers had imagined all the catching up they had to do. The reality that Barnes was broken was always there, but how broken?

"Bucky, you are worth every bit of energy I've put in you." Sam interjected trying to lighten the moment and seeing the psychological work that needed to be done, "Don't be down playing all the hard work I did to keep you alive so you can take all the credit."

The corners of Barnes's mouth ticked up slightly as he glanced in Wilson's direction, but his eyes were still despondent.

"Why?" was all Steve could say.

"I'm still… him." Bucky said humiliated, looking away from both of them.

"What do you mean?" Rogers pressed feeling a larger sense of urgency.

Bucky looked back at the two men and took a shaky breath, "There's one book. A red book with a black star on it. It has my activation codes in it. As long as it's out there and someone can get at it, I'm a threat."

"They we'll find it together!" Steve volunteered immediately, his posture suggesting he wanted to break something.

A harsh barking chuckle came from Bucky as he wiped his nose with a gloved hand, "It's not that easy Steve. I'm not the only Winter Soldier."

Both men froze with the implications of that statement.

"Is there somewhere safe we can go to discuss this?" Sam asked cautiously looking up and down the road. They had already stayed too long in one spot.

"Let's take a ride." Bucky suggested, grasping onto something besides his self-loathing. He gingerly got back in the truck.

"When did you get shot?" Steve blurted, now noticing the wound.

"It's a long story. Go drive that pathetic excuse for a car." Barnes retorted grouchily and Sam smirked.

Steve frowned obstinately but inside he was smiling. There was a hint of his old friend. Just under the surface of abuse.

* * *

"Well, this is **rustic**." Sam said sarcastically as they reached the peak of the remote forested hill and saw the sad shanty before them. "I didn't know we were on a boy scout weekend. I would have brought marshmallows and sticks. Can we sing campfire songs?"

Bucky had an arm over Steve's shoulder as they hiked up the small mountain, the vehicles left behind about a mile away on a logging road. Barnes sucked air, still low on blood and occasionally groaned in pain. Sam had been witness to the amazing level of indignation Bucky gave Steve when he suggested he carry Barnes up the mountain. The tongue lashing Bucky dispensed still made him chuckle.

"What **is** this place?" Steve asked slightly skeptical of the structure.

"When… you have… bits of your mind back. And no one is looking for you. You put it… to good… use." Bucky replied grimly, catching his breath. Steve gave Bucky a pained glance trying to imagine Barnes coming back to himself but knowing ultimately there was no escape from Hydra.

"You built this?" Sam asked, gesturing to the one roomed shack.

"Yep. I think… I think it was… 1963." Bucky let go of Steve and stood up, a hand over his wound. It was all but closed, but he was still anemic.

"No caretakers here." Wilson stated and Bucky shook his head no, approaching the door.

There was no lock and the door swung open with a creak. It was clear that others had found the structure over the years and used it. There were some gun shells from a hunter, tarnished in the corner under cobwebs. Hints that romantic interludes occurred more than once were left behind too. A few wine bottles and beer bottles littered the floor, brown and clear glass.

Rogers batted at the spider webs around his head but admired the general construction of the shack. "I don't remember the army teaching us how to build… buildings."

"They didn't. Hydra did." Bucky said absently searching for something on the floor, kicking leaves and other refuse around. Rogers and Sam abruptly felt uneasy at the word Hydra. Both simultaneously wondering what else Hydra had taught Bucky.

Finally, Barnes found what he was looking for and pulled his left arm up like a jack hammer. Steve flinched as the vibranium fist came down through wood floor boards with a crack inches from his foot. "Always have a back-up plan." Bucky stated grabbing at the shards of broken wood, pulling them up in chunks.

Wilson and Rogers peered into the hole. Bucky removed a case of MRE's, several knives and some dated pistols with ammunition.

"Want some lunch?" Bucky said with a barest hint of mischief, holding up a can of rations from 1963 and a bowie knife.

The two other Avengers looked uncertain, "Sure?"

* * *

"For 1963, this isn't too bad. God bless the German military." Sam joked poking at the can of warmed food in his hand. The small campfire only was hot enough to barely heat the MRE's Bucky had stashed, "I'll let you know if I get food poisoning or something." The three sat outside the shack in the late afternoon sun streaming down through the thick tree canopy.

"We all will, won't we? Or do you do that slower than me too?" Steve poked back casting a glance at Wilson.

Wilson gave him a dirty look, "Ha, ha, Captain Kangaroo."

"I don't understand that reference." Steve laughed, a smile washing over his face making him look every bit his youth, and not ninety.

Wilson rolled his eyes, but he was chuckling too.

Bucky noticed the level of camaraderie between the two men and it made him feel a kaleidoscope of emotions: awkward, jealous, happiness for Steve, and disappointment. Steve was his best friend. Not this 'newcomer'. A covetous flame ignited in his chest but it was snuffed out by the cold wind of guilt. It was good Steve wasn't alone and this Sam guy seemed to be a really genuine friend. Wasn't it? After all, Barnes couldn't even die right. He'd left Steve. Not the other way around. Feeling mortified, he looked down in his can so they couldn't see the conflict on his face.

They finished the meal in silence, scraping the cans, not realizing how hungry they had been.

* * *

"Bucky, you still hate spiders?" Steve asked as the three men surveyed the building.

"Yes." Bucky replied almost shivering. The plates on his arm moved rhythmically. Steve had a hard time not staring.

"Then remind me to carefully introduce you to a kid name Peter." Rogers replied ripping his eyes away from the arm.

"Not sure I'll get to do that." Bucky said darkly keeping his eyes on the hut. Wilson looked at both of them, the pain arcing between.

"Well, this… 'cabin' isn't going to clean itself. Let's get to work." Sam interjected breaking the thin ice of remorse and suffering that formed between the two vets when they weren't busy.

They made a pile of trash several yards away and jerry-rigged a broom from some branches of surrounding bushes, evicting a few bats in the process. When it was done, the place wasn't covered in spider webs and the floor was respectably clean; perfectly serviceable shelter for the three men. The only issue would be fitting them all in there comfortably enough to sleep.

That task done, Bucky told Sam where water could be found, if his memory was right and the present hadn't modernized it. Barnes produced a few beat up metal canteens with the other supplies; Wilson took them to be filled.

Steve set himself down among the leaf litter, knees pulled up, elbows resting on them. Barnes sat down but more silently. That unnerved Rogers a bit. The forest was quiet for a moment before he spoke, "Bucky."

Barnes looked at him, his long hair falling across his forehead.

"I'm so glad you're back."

Barnes smiled a hesitant smile, "Yeah." He looked out into the forest, "But it won't last."

Rogers felt his gut tighten, "Whaddya mean?"

"My book. I need to get it. Alone." Bucky replied still looking out into the green.

"I can help you."

"No. This time you can't."

Rogers sighed digging his heels into the earth, "Are you just doing this to be stubborn?"

"No."

"I can't lose you again." Rogers said quickly, feeling the tears reaching all the way back to his childhood welling up from inside becoming a tsunami. Barnes's words tore the scar off his heart from the train in 1943.

Bucky turned and saw Steve's hurt and it killed him inside. "I'm so sorry Steve." Bucky whispered.

"For what? You didn't do anything wrong." Rogers choked still looking at his best friend.

"Yeah. But I still did it." The despair was sickeningly palatable. "I couldn't even die right."

"Buck."

"No. I left you. I promised your folks I'd take care of you. And I left." Bucky swallowed nervously, "And when it was my time, I couldn't do that right. And I became… this." He lifted his left arm. "I almost _killed you_ , Steve. I can't risk your life to fix what I've become."

"But that isn't you. You can't blame yourself for it." Steve tried to reason with him, desperately grasping at straws.

"I do. I **remember.** All of them." The desolation in Barnes' eyes was as deep as the ocean.

Steve didn't have an answer for that.

Sam's approach was audible.

* * *

"Where is this book of yours?" Sam asked cautiously also sinking into the leaf litter with a soft crunch. The tension in the air was like live wires. He wondered, apprehensively, what the two friends had talked about when he retrieved the water.

"Romania. Last I knew." Bucky said flatly, his face a mask.

"Interesting choice of location." Sam pondered, "So how do we get there?"

"You're not helping me." Bucky objected.

"Buck…" Steve started.

"No." Barnes turned and forcefully glared, "You don't know what I've… what they…" Bucky stood up and paused in pain, holding his side.

Steve jerked to get up but Sam reached out, stopping him. Rogers looked distraught.

Barnes turned away from them holding himself in an awkward angle, breathing loudly to block the voices of the dead from his ears.

"Ok. You don't want us to come. Fine." Sam soothed, "How about you start from the beginning. Let it out, Barnes. We got time."

Bucky stood up a bit, his breathing slowing, gradually turning back to the two seated men, "It started with that train. That freight car." He swallowed. "And falling."

Steve felt his viscera twist in a million directions. Sam's hand stayed on his forearm.

"I thought I was going to die." Bucky laughed bitterly, "Really. I thought 'This is it!'. Well, actually, I wondered a bit how I made it to the bottom of the canyon… almost in one piece." He looked woefully at his left shining arm. "In the end, it didn't matter."

Barnes paused looking out into the woods, his knees trembling slightly. Sam and Steve waited.

"Zola." Bucky spat. "That sick sonofabitch. It was him again." Glancing at Steve, "Just like Azzano."

Rogers cast his eyes down in shame. He didn't get to Bucky fast enough then, instead being a dancing monkey for the military circus.

"No, Rogers. Don't. Don't beat yourself up about this one." Bucky sighed tiredly as if he was getting comfortable letting the skeletons in his closet out, "Peggy got him in the end."

Steve's head snapped up, "What?"

Bucky gave a half smile, his eyes tired, "Yeah. Your girl. She got him with a little help from Chester."

Steve was speechless, staring at Barnes.

"Hydra let me know that much." Bucky continued, "Because turns out, they put Dr. Faustus in with Zola in a SSR jail. Together!" He raised his hands in exasperation.

Sam watched and learned, "And who was Dr. Faustus?"

"Just the number one mind wiping, life destroying, hypnotizing freak in Hydra." Bucky growled, waves of hate rolling off of his body, "So they sat in there. Together. Planning. Scheming. All under the SSR's nose."

"What does that have to do with you, Bucky?" Steve asked timidly. He knew at that point in history, he had already crashed the _Valkyrie_ and was useless.

Barnes' face went blank, "Because they used all their knowledge on me."

Steve jumped up as if he'd been shocked and turned away, raising his hands to his face, feeling like he just ran a marathon.

"Ok. Steve. Ok. Relax. It was in the file… some of it." Sam reached out. Steve turned around again to face Barnes, his expression a mash of hurt and begging forgiveness.

"Reading it and hearing it from the source are two different things, Sam." Steve spat angrily.

"Rogers. It's done. The past." Barnes said as if he didn't believe it himself. Steve looked right through him.

A moment of quiet passed as the two friends collected themselves and Sam presided over the calming.

"You know, I was ordered to kill her." Bucky admitted guiltily, when he felt able to go on.

"Who? Peggy?" Steve asked, putting his hands on his hips.

"Yeah." Barnes looked at him, that stare that was part Bucky, part Soldat.

"When?" Sam asked.

"1989. She was Director of S.H.I.E.L.D." Bucky explained, "And Hank Pym had just shared the news about a particle he discovered. Obviously, I failed." He paused, "But I'll never forget the look of hate she had for me then. Inside my head, I was screaming. Screaming for her to recognize me. To see James again and help me get out. But he was too strong, and I couldn't get through to her."

The two men kept listening, reserving judgement.

"Then in 1991, I was ordered to kill Howard and Maria Stark." Bucky's voice cracked a little.

Sam and Steve still sat silently. It was in the file, but Tony had no idea.

"He saw me, Steve." Bucky looked conflicted, "He called me by my name! And in my mind, I was yelling. I was clawing. I was doing everything I could to stop myself. But I was compliant…. I was complicit!" Barnes's breaths came faster now, "I shot him. And I choked her…with my hands. She was crying out for him. For Howard. Steve… I _knew_ these people. I did it. I did all of it." He held is hands away from himself as if there was the blood of his victims coating them. Falling to his knees, Bucky pounded the earth below him, sending clods of soil into the air, bruising his knuckles on his right hand, dirtying his left.

"Ok. Slow down Bucky. Slow down." Sam soothed.

Rogers said nothing, and simply embraced his friend again. The crying came.

Sam watched the two men, huddled together on the forest floor weeping, late afternoon sunlight dappling the ground all around them, bird song in the air. _This was a start_ , he thought unhappily for their suffering. _But all bad things must end for good to happen._

* * *

The morning brought the three awake and acutely aware how cramped they were. Bones and joints protested. Once they had unfolded themselves and stretched outdoors in the quiet dawn, there was an awkward quiet.

Finally, Bucky spoke softly, "I've gotta go."

"I know." Steve answered, equally quiet.

"You know if you need us, we'll be here." Sam reinforced.

"I appreciate that." Barnes affirmed, his voice humble.

"Ok, Buck. Don't do anything stupid until you get back." Steve quoted his friend, a glimmer of hope and friendship in his eye.

"How can I, you're taking all the stupid with you." Barnes replied a shadow of a smile on his face.

Sam nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

With a back clapping hug, Steve let Bucky go. Barnes shook Falcon's hand with a light nod of thanks. The two Avengers watched the former Winter Soldier move off down the hill to his destination in Romania to find his book.

When neither man could see him, Steve trembled slightly.

"He'll be ok, Steve. He'll be back too." Sam steadied.

"I know." Rogers replied "I just miss him already."

"I think we both do." Sam commented, "But this isn't getting his name cleared or Tony under control, is it?"

"Avengers, assemble?" Steve responded.

"Yeah. Something like that." Sam punched him lightly in the shoulder, "Let's go."

 **A/N- This was really difficult to write. In the movies, the actors are SO EXPRESSIVE it's hard to put those feelings into words. Not sure the English language has enough adjective and adverbs for facial expressions. And, how do you write dudes having feelings when stereotypically the aren't allowed (although that is changing and that is a GOOD thing). I didn't want this to be a sob fest but I wanted to have all the feelings I feel when I watch the film. Plus, Bucky couldn't stay. I already strayed too far from cannon than I typically like, although this set of chapters started months before CA:CW was even released and all Marvel was feeding us was scraps. So, Bucky leaves, just not frozen.**

 **Thank you for coming on this ride with me. I hope I have entertained you all. 8belles**


	22. Epilogue

Epilogue

Steve sat at his dinette table, only the small overhead light casting long shadows against the blackness of the night. Outside, Brooklyn breathed its steady rhythm of life no matter the hour or day. That gave him hope and was the only buoy he could cling to keep him from sinking into the murky dark horror that was before him.

Bucky's notebooks sat spread across the table.

" _I think he left these for you." Sam said holding out the backpack before they left the tiny shack in the German woods. Bucky had been gone for almost an hour and it was clear he was not coming back._

Rogers took them, silently, and though they didn't amount to much, they were as heavy as the world.

There was the one with Steve's face on it. Several pages had been removed and a name on the inside of the cover scratched out as well. But what remained made Steve smile because he was there in those memories. The stories of their childhood were still with both of them.

He wasn't ready for the notebook with the menacing Hydra head drawn neatly. Steve knew Bucky did the art and was objectively impressed with his ability, being he was a proficient artist himself. The cover stayed closed.

" _You might not want to pull on that thread." Widows voice warned._

 _Too late_ , he thought, looking out the window into the lamp light speckled dark. He saw his reflection in the glass. _Too late._


End file.
